I  MhLlNDY 


.-. 


5-G-S-PERRY 


U.CaiJBRARY 

TT"NTTVFT?^TTV  nT7  r  A  T  n?i^T>*rr  A   m     ••  m 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


MELINDY 


"AIN'T  I  BEEN  SINGIN'  JES'   FINE" 


M  E  L  I  N  D  Y 


BY 


STELLA   GEORGE    STERN    PERRY 


FRONTISPIECE 


NEW  YORK 
MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

1912 


Copyright,  1912,  by 
MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

NEW   YORK 


All  rights  reserved 


TO 
ELIZABETH   BANKS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    MELINDY  INTRODUCES  YOU  TO  THE  BIG 

WHITE   HOUSE 1 

II    INSTRUCTING  MELINDY 6 

III  CONCERNING  FRIENDSHIP IT 

IV  THE  BRIGHT  FACE  OF  DANGER      ...  31 
V  SIGNS,  OMENS  AND  PREDICTIONS  ...  46 

VI  CUPID  IN  CALICO ,     ;.     61 

VII  THE  BOY  FROM  BACK  OF  TOWN     .    ;.     .     78 

VIII  FOOLS*  GOLD .    *     ...     99 

IX  STRICTLY  COMMERCIAL       .     -.     .    v    -.     .  122 

X  SUGAR  AND  SPICE  .........  144 

XI  FOOD  AND  FAMINE     ........  161 

XII  A  MESSENGER  OF  THE  GODS      ....  178 

XIII  IN  QUIETNESS 198 

XIV  THROWING  THE  LIFE  LINE 210 

XV  THE  CENTER  OF  THE  STAGE      ....  224 

XVI    THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  GODS    .  .  240 


MELINDY 


CHAPTER  I 

MELINDY  INTRODUCES  YOU  TO  THE  BIG 
WHITE  HOUSE 

THIS  is  mainly  about  Melindy. 

"  Everybody  lubs  Melindy,"  says  that  small  person 
herself.  "  Everybody  lubs  Melindy,  'cause  Fse  so 
pleasant ! " 

Melindy  lives  with  "  her  white  folks  "  in  the  Big 
White  House.  She  is  the  little  sister  of  Sis  Suky, 
the  capable  cook.  But  Melindy  never  thinks  of  her 
self  as  limited  by  that  relationship.  She  thinks  of 
her  white  folks  as  belonging  to  her, — "  'cause  us  jess 
lubs  us,  us  does ! " —  and  so  they  think  of  her  as 
theirs,  her  white  folks  who  find  Melindy  "  so  pleasant." 

The  first  thing  that  catches  the  eye,  as  you  draw 
near  the  Big  White  House,  the  last  to  leave  the  mem 
ory  as  you  recall  it,  is  the  fence  that  surrounds  the 
garden.  Not  that  it  is  insistent ;  on  the  contrary,  the 
dull  green  slats  fade  inconspicuously  into  the  foliage. 
But  it  is  such  a  futile  fence  and  so  strikingly  fails 
to  keep  the  garden  in  check ! 

Riotous  star- jasmine,  honeysuckle  and  passion- 
1 


2  Melindy 

flower  vines  leap  over  the  pickets  and  fling  festoons 
of  triumph  and  perfumes  of  delight  onto  the  pave 
ment  outside.  Saucy  ox-eyed  daisies  and  johnny- 
jump-ups,  red  flowering  verbena  and  other  inquisitive 
blooms  put  out  their  pretty  heads  between  the  slats. 
Close  to  the  ground,  even  the  timid  blue  lobelia  dares 
to  creep  to  the  freedom  of  the  street.  And,  over  all, 
great  magnolias  raise  yellow  candles  in  snowy  globes, 
and  tall  oleanders  and  gay  azaleas  flaunt  their  glory 
of  bloom. 

The  garden  is  a  careless  garden,  planted  as  Nature 
would  plant,  if  she  made  up  her  mind  to  summon  all 
the  shades  of  color  in  the  world  into  one  gorgeous 
mass  of  blossoms. 

Climbing  roses  riot  over  trellises;  sweet  tea  roses 
border  the  grassy  walks;  bold  tree  roses  exalt  their 
stately  beauty  and  clustering,  plebeian  bush  roses 
make  joyous  banks  of  color. 

There  are  battalions  of  red  lilies  and  pure  clouds 
of  their  white  sisters,  fluttering  heaps  of  the  well- 
named  butterfly  lilies,  splendid  trumpet-bearing  co 
horts  of  the  lilium  auratum. 

The  flowering  crepe-myrtle  trees, —  each  a  huge 
bouquet  of  bloom, —  drop  crinkled  petals,  pink,  white, 
purple,  crimson,  upon  the  grass. 

Fruit  trees, —  fig  and  pomegranate,  Japan  plum, 
orange  and  mulberry, —  and  rich  grape  arbors  stand 
sensible  of  their  obligations  at  the  seasons  of  flower 
and  fruit. 

The  bayoneted  palms  are  marshaled  in  long  pro- 


The  Big  White  House  3 

tective  ranks  and  a  huge  live-oak,  heavy  with  hoary 
moss,  shades  the  Big  White  House  and  casts  a  partial 
reflection  in  the  water-lily  pool. 

The  square  Big  White  House  stands  on  a  narrow 
street  in  the  very  heart  of  New  Orleans.  It  used  to 
be  a  plantation  manor  when  the  old  French  city  of 
courtyards  was  miles  away  from  it.  But  now  the 
"  new  city," —  the  Americanized  city  of  gardens, — 
has  grown  far  beyond  it  and  clasped  it  in  its  arms. 

The  pretty  mistress  of  the  Big  White  House, 
"Miss  Carrie,"  as  the  darky  servants  call  her, — 
after  their  quaint  custom  of  using  the  given  name  for 
respect  and  affection, — "  Marse  George,"  her  young 
husband,  and  their  four  hearty  children  rule  happily 
here. 

Miss  Carrie's  blonde  beauty,  the  ideal  loveliness  of 
the  angels  in  Melindy's  eyes,  is  not  more  admired  by 
her  household  than  her  mothering  spirit  is  beloved. 
As  to  "  Marse  George,"  Melindy  says,  "  He  sho'  am 
de  smartes'  lawyer  in  Noo  'leans,  ma  Marse  George 
he  is.  But  dat  ain'  all.  He's  de  beatenes'  glorifier 
too.  '  What's  glorifier? 9  How-come  you-all  doan' 
know  what  glorifier  is?  A  glorifier  is  a  pusson  dat 
makes  you  feel  dat  Glory's  done  come  now." 

Their  children  are  Peter  the  Dreamer,  Eustace  the 
Little  Judge,  Eulalia  the  Perfect  and  Baby  the  Baby. 

These,  with  Cousin  Nathalie,  whose  life  is  so  tied 
up  with  Melindy's  machinations,  are  the  **  white 
folks  "  of  the  Big  White  House. 

But  Nathalie  is  at  college  when  Melindy's  tale  be- 


4  Melindy 

gins  and  the  Big  White  House  is  not  itself  until  we 
get  her  home  again.  For  Nathalie  was  Miss  Carrie's 
baby  before  Miss  Carrie  had  babies  of  her  own, — 
since  her  sweet  cousin,  the  elder  sister  of  her  girl 
hood,  put  wee  Nathalie  trustingly  into  Miss  Carrie's 
arms  and  was  not  afraid  to  die  and  leave  her  there. 
Alas!  Baby  Nathalie's  father  could  not  but  follow 
soon.  But  the  lovely  girl,  Our  Nathalie,  at  college 
writing  home  has  a  real  home  to  write  to  in  the  Big 
White  House  and  truly  is  a  daughter  there.  She  is 
"Our  Nathalie"  to  the  loving  family,  "Our  Own 
Missy "  to  the  admiring  servants  and  "  Ma  Babe 
Growin'  Up  "  to  the  children's  old  black  Mammy  who 
had  nursed  her  on  her  bosom. 

General  Haviland  you  must  know  because  he  is  the 
house-friend, —  or  was  before  the  trouble  came,  the 
useless,  distressful  trouble  that  Melindy  will  take  in 
hand. 

"  I  suttinly  did  fix  up  dem  ructions,"  said  Melindy 
afterwards.  "Am*  I  smaht  teh  fix  dem  up  so 
pretty?" 

General  Haviland  and  his  "  boys,"  the  nephews  of 
his  adoption,  live,  when  this  tale  begins,  in  a  tiny 
cottage  set  in  a  pale-toned  garden.  The  garden  is 
the  good  gentleman's  delight  and  the  delicate  tones  of 
the  flowers, —  so  surprisingly  gentle  for  a  stern  old 
soldier's  taste, —  are  a  conscious  setting  for  a  memory. 

Our  Nathalie's  mother  had  owned  such  gentle-hued 
flower  beds  —  all  of  pale  lavender  and  delicate  rose 


The  Big  White  House  5 

and  yellow  fading  to  white  —  and  the  General  had 
loved  her.  But  that  is  long  behind  us  now  I 

Perhaps  all  of  these  white  folks  and  their  friends, 
of  whom  you  shall  learn,  are  much  more  interesting 
than  a  little  brown  girl,  Melindy.  And,  to  be  sure, 
the  intertwined  story  of  their  joys  and  sorrows  is  the 
tale  I  have  to  tell.  But  first  you  must  know  Melindy ; 
because  it  is  still  Melindy  who  shall  lead  you  into  the 
Big  White  House. 

For  neither  position  nor  power, —  and  not  even 
character, —  wins  the  center  of  the  stage. 

The  white  spot-light  of  Stardom  is  leveled  on 
Personality. 


CHAPTER  II 

INSTRUCTING  MELINDY 

LITTLE  Melindy  was  singing.  She  had  a  thin, 
treble  pipe  of  a  voice  that  rose  to  tenuous  heights 
without  becoming  shrill.  Little  Melindy  was  fond  of 
using  it.  She  walked  up  and  down  the  garden-path 
between  the  rows  of  tall,  pink  phlox,  shaking  her  head 
until  every  separate  little  "  pigtail "  swayed  with  the 
music. 

She  was  a  pretty  little  pickaninny  of  the  roundish, 
browny,  shiny,  soft-eyed,  dimpled  type  that  made 
women  exclaim,  "  Isn't  she  dear?  " 

She  held  out  her  faded  blue  pinafore  now  and  then, 
as  if  tempted  to  dance,  as  she  sang  joyously  — 

"It's  hahd  teh  lub, 

It's  hahd  teh  lub, 
An'  it's  berry  hahd  teh  mek  up  yo'  min'; 

Fo'  you  done  gone  an'  busted  up 

Lots  o5  li'l  heahts; 
But  you  ain'  a-gwine-a  bus'  up  mine!" 

"You,  M'lindy!"  called  her  sister  Suky  from  the 
kitchen  window;  "you,  M'lindy,  you  quit  singin' 
dat-ar  nonsense ! " 

Melindy's  sister  Suky  was  the  cook  in  the  Big 
6 


Instructing  Melindy  7 

White  House.  She  had  "  fetched  M'lindy  down  f 'urn 
de  country  teh  try  an'  mek  some  sort  o'  human  bein' 
out  ob  her,  'stead  ob  jess  a  fool  nigger." 

And,  "  An'  I  clar  ter  goodness,  Miss  Carrie,"  she 
said  to  the  mistress  of  the  Big  White  House,  "  when 
I  done  seen  dat  chile  a-comin'  I  suttinly  was  glad  teh 
hab  a  chance  teh  feed  'er  up.  'Cause  she  sho'ly  wuz 
jess  a  li'l  bag  o'  bones  a-rattlin'  tegedder  whenebber 
she  walked." 

But  Suky's  troubles  began  with  Melindy's  coming. 
For,  although  it  was  not  difficult  to  convert  the  little 
"  bag  o'  bones  "  into  a  cherubic  plumpness,  her  moral 
training  presented  graver  problems. 

Little  Melindy,  like  many  other  soft,  sweet,  round, 
acquiescent,  apparently  docile  creatures,  had  a  be 
wildering  way  of  following  her  own  will,  without 
seeming  to  dispute  authority.  She  would  listen  to 
Suky's  instructions,  rapt  like  one  in  a  vision  —  and 
ignore  them  as  completely  as  one  in  a  dream. 

Suky  was  a  born  stoic;  Melindy  a  natural  epi 
curean.  Suky  was  religious  to  the  point  of  fanati 
cism  —  a  "  shouting  Baptist "  without  the  least 
capitulation,  an  apostle  of  plainness,  severity,  sacri 
fice.  Melindy  was  a  perfect  pagan,  joying  in  each 
day's  joys,  a  lover  of  flowers  and  song  and  food  and 
sunshine  and,  especially,  of  admiration. 

"You,  M'lindy,"  called  Suky  from  the  kitchen 
window,  "  you,  M'lindy,  you  quit  singin'  dat-ar  non 
sense.  Dat  sort-er  squealin's  jess  a  was'e  ob  breath !  " 

Melindy,  dimpling  and  grinning,  showing  two  per- 


8  Melindy 

feet  rows  of  new,  small,  white  teeth,  appealed  to  Miss 
Carrie. 

"Ain't  I  been  singin'  fine?  "  she  exulted,  "I  jess 
lubs  teh  sing  so  pretty." 

"  And  Miss  Carrie,"  she  continued  happily,  "  is 
you  seen  ma  new  petticoat  an'  ma  new  w'ite  dress? 
I'se  gwine-a  wear  'em  Sunday  teh  de  Sunday  School." 

"  Why,  how  glad  Sis  will  be  that  you  are  going  to 
Sunday  School ! " 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  I'se  gwine.  I'se  gotter  show  dem 
stuck-up  kids  ma  new  w'ite  dress  an'  ma  petticoat. 
But  I  suttinly  does  hope  none  ob  'em  will  git  teh 
fightin'  an'  scrappin'  wif  me  lak  dey  done  las'  time. 
'Cause  ef  I  wants  teh  fight,  Miss  Carrie,  I  doan'  need 
teh  go  teh  Sunday  School  teh  fight." 

This  pacific  desire  was  not  fulfilled.  Either  the 
pretty  white  dress  or  its  wearer's  consequent  air  of 
superiority  —  or  perhaps  it  was  Melindy's  type  of 
sweetness,  which  many  natures  find  cloying  —  some 
thing  developed  a  violent  antipathy  to  Melindy  in  the 
souls  of  the  three  little  darky  girls  who  shared  her 
bench  in  the  class.  Voices  soon  waxed  loud,  and  tears 
became  imminent. 

Melindy  ran  home,  weeping  pitifully,  and  told  the 
story  of  her  humiliation.  The  little  girls'  quarrel 
having  grown  vociferous  enough  to  disturb  all  of  the 
young  congregation,  the  teacher  was  moved  to  stern 
measures  of  discipline.  She  stood  the  four  culprits 
in  a  corner  and  braided  together  the  upstanding  little 
tufts  of  their  wiry  hair. 


Instructing  Melindy  9 

"Done  fastened  me  right  up  to  dem-ar  Sunday 
Schoolers,"  Melindy  wailed.  "  Done  plaited  one  ob 
ma  pigtails  teh  Mamie's,  an'  Mamie's  yuther  pigtail 
teh  Jinny's,  an'  Jinny's  yuther  pigtail  teh  Iph'- 
genier's,  an'  Iph'genier's  yuther  pigtail  teh  ma  yuther 
pigtail.  Done  stood  us  up  all  hunched  ober  and 
braided  togedder.  An'  her  talkin'  teh  we-all  'bout 
lub  one  anudder !  I'se  shore  I  could  lub  one  anudder 
much  better  ef  I  ain't  been  fastened  up  teh  dem." 

Any  suggestion  of  Sabbath  School  attendance 
after  that  brought  forth  such  bitter  tears  and  be- 
seechings  that  the  tender-hearted  Suky  always  melted 
and  allowed  her  little  charge  to  receive  only  such 
training  in  piety  as  she  herself  could  give. 

That  was  stern  and  unequivocal  enough.  Little 
Melindy  would  listen  in  a  state  of  emotional  ecstasy, 
on  the  verge  of  tears,  trembling  in  her  soul  at  the 
picture  Suky  drew  of  her  horrible  vanities  and  their 
consequences. 

But  when  the  preachment  was  over  and  the  pre 
ceptor  well  pleased  with  the  apparent  effect,  the  pupil 
would  breathe  a  sigh  of  relief,  break  into  dimples, 
and  say,  "  Now,  Sis  Suky,  kin  I  go  an'  put  on  ma 
pink  ribbons  an'  go  inteh  de  house  an'  sing  fo'  de 
ladies?  Dey  jess  lubs  teh  hyear  me  sing  so  pretty !  " 

The  only  thing  for  which  she  had  stable  and  con 
tinued  reverence  was  the  parrot  —  a  handsome  and 
accomplished  South  American  bird  with  a  majestic 
mien  and  interesting  habits.  In  Pol's  presence  Me 
lindy  was  ever  subdued,  grave  and  perfect  in  conduct. 


10  Melindy 

Beyond  his  immediate  neighborhood  she  would  say, 
in  an  awe-struck  whisper,  to  her  little  white  play 
mates,  the  children  of  the  Big  White  House,  "  Dat 
Polly,  dat  ain'  no  nachul  bird.  No,  sirree!  Kin  a 
nachul  bird  talk?  Dat's  ole  folks  come  back,  das 
whar  dat  is.  Dat's  ole  folks  whar  didn't  talk  up 
when  dey  'uz  hyah  befo',  but  jess  sot  'round  a-grumpy 
and  a-glum,  an'  jess  snap  out '  Yes '  an'  '  No  '  at  yer, 
an'  yer  couldn*  mek  'em  talk  no  way  ner  nohow. 
Now  dey's  gotter  finish  deir  talkin'.  Dat's  what  dat 
Polly  is." 

At  the  secular  "  day  school "  Melindy  flourished. 
She  learned  to  read  by  leagues  at  a  time.  She  soon 
exhausted  the  school  library  and  began  to  nibble  at 
the  library  in  the  Big  House.  No  one  having  directed 
her  choice  there,  the  effect  of  its  catholicity  was  soon 
apparent. 

"  Miss  Carrie,  honey,"  she  announced  one  morn 
ing,  bearing  a  tray  of  pansies  to  her  beloved  mistress, 
"  hyah  is  yo'  pansies  —  dat's  f o'  thoughts ;  an'  de 
washwoman,  Rose  Mary,  done  gone  erway,  an'  dat's 
fo'  remembrance.  An'  how  many  young  gem'p'mens 
been  enamelled  ob  you,  Miss  Carrie  ?  " 

But  the  book  she  loved  best  was  a  story-book  of 
which  she  spoke  to  her  Sis  as  "  de  li'l  brown  book 
'bout  a  kin'  li'l  boy." 

She  made  a  song  about  the  kind  young  hero,  and 
went  about  singing  it  as  she  helped  water  the  gar 
den: — 


Instructing  Melindy  11 

De  kine  little  boy  knowed  jess  what  teh  do; 
He  nebber  had  teh  lissen  teh  no  Sister  Sue. 

The  spirit  of  this  ballad  aroused  Suky's  ire. 
"  Lissen  teh  dat  chile  talk !  "  she  exclaimed,  almost  in 
tears.  "  You,  M'lindy,  doan'  you  nebber  read  dat 
li'l  brown  book  no  more,  ef  hit  puts  sech  notions  in 
yo'  head." 

Tears  welled  up  in  Melindy's  eyes  at  being  thus 
deprived  of  her  dear  delight.  For  the  first  time  in 
her  smiling  little  life  a  large  sense  of  injustice  rankled 
in  her  soul.  She  unconsciously  felt  the  difference 
between  having  envied  the  kind  little  boy  because  he 
did  not  have  to  obey  an  elder  sister  and  having  failed 
to  obey  her  own. 

"  I  ain'  done  nothing"  she  whimpered ;  "  I  ain'  done 
nothin'  'tall." 

But  Suky  was  adamant.  Melindy  was  irreligious 
and  vain,  would  not  sing  hymns  or  go  to  Sunday 
School,  and  now  she  was  learning  to  resent  authority. 

After  a  few  days  of  silent  longing  for  the  for 
bidden  favorite  story-book,  Melindy  tremblingly 
ventured  to  ask  again  for  a  reversal  of  the  sentence. 

"  Sis  Suky,"  she  said,  "  you  knows  /  doan'  know 
what's  right  an'  what's  wrong,  an'  so,  ob  co'se,  I'se 
gotter  do  jess  es  you  tells  me.  But  de  kin'  li'l  boy 
in  de  book  he  knowed  what's  right.  Das  why-for  he 
ain'  had  ter  min'  nobody.  Please'm,  Sis  Suky,  cain't 
I  finish  de  story?  I  done  on'y  jess  readed  a  li'l  bit. 
I  wuz  jess  a-comin'  to  find  out  what  dat  kin'  li'l  white 


12  Melindy 

boy  done  when  he  growed  up  an'  be  a  man.  Please'm, 
I  won't  sing  erbout  it  no  more." 

But  Suky  saw  her  advantage.  At  last  something 
has  made  an  impression  on  Melindy's  mercurial  tem 
perament.  And  Suky  made  use  of  it.  Melindy 
might  go  into  the  library  to  read  the  book,  if  she 
would  first  learn  a  hymn  —  or  if  she  would  refrain 
from  making  smiles  at  her  reflection  in  the  water-lily 
pool  —  or  if  she  would  not  forget  her  prayers  — 
according  to  the  day  and  the  temptation. 

Melindy's  prayers  were  original.  She  accepted 
the  prescribed  formulas,  running  through  them  very 
quickly,  and  then  adding,  with  deeper  feeling,  "  En' 
please,  Sir,  make  ev'ybody  sweet  an'  kin'  to  Me 
lindy!" 

One  morning  in  the  mild  Louisiana  December, 
Melindy  came  home  from  school  beaming  with  pride. 
She  had  successfully  written  her  first  letter  —  a 
Christmas  letter  to  Suky  —  written  it  with  pains  and 
triumphant  rejoicings,  as  follows:  — 

"  Dear  Sister: 

It  is  with  me  to  take  much  pleasure  in  ritten  to 
you  a  short  letter  to  tell  you  don't  f  orgit  me  Chris- 
mus  that  to  send  me  a  Chrismus  doll  and  a  book  about 
the  kind  little  boy.  Think  me  Chrismus  evening, 
think  me  Chrismus  night,  think  me  Chrismus  mprnin', 
and  don't  forgit  to  rite. —  Frum  yer  sister, 

MEUNDY." 


Instructing  Melindy  13 

Suky  was  too  proud  of  the  little  letter  itself  to 
rebuke  Melindy  9s  pride  in  it  when  it  was  delivered. 
But  she  was  shrewd  enough  to  make  capital  out  of 
the  appeals.  She  promised  the  child  to  grant  her 
requests  for  Christmas  gifts  if  Melindy  would  not 
only  go  to  church  on  the  coming  Sunday,  but  would 
also  return  home  able  to  tell  what  the  minister  had 
said. 

Melindy  had  been  to  church  before.  But,  during 
the  long  opening  prayer,  her  mind  had  always  wan 
dered  to  more  fertile  fields  of  the  imagination,  and 
during  the  reading  of  notices  before  the  sermon  she 
had  always  composed  herself  for  slumber.  Suky's 
hope  that  the  child  might  "  come  forward  to  the 
mourners'  bench  "  and  "  get  religion  "  was  never  ful 
filled. 

Melindy  sighed  when  the  bargain  was  proposed  to 
her,  but,  with  her  usual  surface  docility,  assented. 

When  the  important  Sunday  came,  however,  she 
found  that  church  had  acquired  a  new  interest.  The 
congregation  was  alert  with  knowledge  of  the  dread 
ful  fact  that  Sister  Hannah  Jackson  was  going  to  be 
rebuked  by  the  minister  and  perhaps  put  out  of  the 
membership. 

All  through  the  service  preliminary  to  the  sermon, 
Sister  Hannah  Jackson,  the  culprit,  sat  up  in  the 
front  pew,  swaying  back  and  forth,  holding  her  hand 
kerchief  before  her  face  and  uttering  low  moans. 

Melindy  watched  her  constantly,  in  a  horrible  fas- 


14.  MeUn'dy 

cination.  She  forgot  that  her  Christmas  presents 
were  to  depend  upon  her  memory  of  the  prayer  and 
sermon.  She  saw  nothing  but  the  suffering,  wretched 
figure  of  the  backslider ;  heard  nothing  but  the  occa 
sional  low  moans,  each  of  which  penetrated  her  young 
bosom  as  sorely  as  the  bosom  from  which  they  were 
wrung. 

Suky  looked  upon  the  little  tear-stained  face  in 
despair.  No  exhortation  of  the  most  eloquent 
preacher,  no  appeals  by  hymn  or  prayer  had  ever 
developed  in  Melindy  the  degree  of  emotion  that  came 
so  quickly  from  sympathy  with  a  sinner. 

The  sermon  was  a  tirade  against  Sister  Hannah 
Jackson  and  her  sins.  These  the  dusky  pastor  speci 
fied.  She  had  attended  a  card  party  and  dance,  and 
had  there  imbibed  of  beer  —  an  overdose  of  beer. 
Her  pastor  was  thankful  to  say  that  it  had  not  for 
merly  been  her  habit  to  take  any  intoxicant.  But, 
"Behole!"  he  said,  "  de  debbil  done  clutched  dis 
sinner  at  las'.  She  done  sought  teh  hide  her  sin. 
But,  passin*  right  by  my  house,  right  nex'  door  teh 
dis  hyah  blessed  chu'ch,  she  done  call  out,  loud 
'nough  for  me  an'  my  family  ter  hyear : 

"  '  Land  sakes ! '  she  done  call  out,  *  seems  lak  ma 
legs  done  belong  teh  some  udder  darky.  Seems  lak 
dey  doan'  belong  teh  me ! '  An'  den  she  sot  right 
down  on  de  steps  ob  de  church,  drunken  an'  in  de 
grip  ob  Satan. 

"  Sistern  an'  breddern,  I'se  sorry  ter  hab  ter  be 


Instructing  Melindy  15 

hahd  on  dis  hyah  goat  dat's  done  got  ermong  our 
sheep — "  Here  the  minister  paused,  the  culprit 
wailed,  and  Melindy  sobbed  aloud. 

She  remembered  Hannah  Jackson  as  a  guest  of  her 
sister  —  a  cheery,  heartsome  woman  who  never  failed 
to  bring  her  a  ginger-nut.  Suky  had  herself  called 
her  a  good  church-member.  It  burned  Melindy's 
little  heart  to  see  this  dismal  transformation. 

The  minister  broke  forth  into  bitter  reproaches. 
He  said  that  the  awful  sin  might  be  overlooked,  ex 
cept  for  the  insult  to  the  church.  But  now  he  felt 
it  his  duty,  in  order  to  protect  his  people  from  con 
tamination  and  to  uphold  a  severe  standard  of  moral 
ity,  to  put  the  wicked  one  out  of  the  community  as 
he  felt  that  Jesus  would  wish. 

"  He  would  not !  He  wouldn'  wish  no  sech-a- 
thing ! "  cried  an  angry  treble  voice,  and  the  docile, 
pliant,  weak  Melindy,  turned  into  a  thing  of  flame, 
darted  up  the  aisle,  straight  to  the  minister's  desk. 

"  He  would  not !  You'se  a  sinner  yo'se'f  teh  done 
said  it.  He  nebber  did  put  no  sinners  out.  He  done 
lubbed  de  sinners,  spech'ly  when  dey's  sorry.  He 
done  said  so.  He  would-a  fergive  you,  Sis  Hannah 
Jackson,  'cause  you  is  sorry.  He  would-a  lub  you. 
So  doan'  cry  no  mo'.  But  dis-ar  minister  an'  dis-ar 
crowd !  He  would-a  spoke  'is  min'  ter  you.  He  done 
said  nobody  got  no  claim  ter  cas'  stones  less'n  dey 
ain't  no  sinners  demself.  An'  you  is  sinnin'  dis  hyah 
minute.  You's  Parisees,  you  is.  Ebery  las'  one  ob 


16  Melindy 

yer  git  right  down  on  yer  knees  and  pray  f o'  dis  hyah 
Parisee  minister  ob  yourn  teh  git  sorry  fo'  his  sins 
and  learn  you-all  teh  lub  one  anudder !  " 

Her  people  are  an  emotional  people,  and  the  fiery 
child  seemed  inspired.  Sobbing  together,  the  min 
ister  and  congregation  got  down  on  their  knees  and 
prayed  that  the  spirit  of  love  and  forgiveness  might 
descend  upon  them. 

Melindy  walked  out  of  the  church  with  the  weeping 
Suky  in  her  wake.  Once  outside,  she  dimpled  and 
turned  about  politely. 

"  Did  yer  hyear  me,  Sis  ?  "  she  cried  triumphantly. 
"  Did  yer  hyear  me  a-gin  it  teh  de  minister?  Didn' 
I  done  spoke  up  pretty  f  o'  Sis  Hannah  Jackson  ?  " 

"  You,  M'lindy,"  asked  Suky  in  a  daze,  "  you, 
M'lindy,  how  come  you  knows  so  much  erbout  Jesus 
an'  you  ain't  nebber  been  teh  Sunday  School  an'  I 
ain't  nebber  been  able  teh  teach  yer?  " 

"  Why,  Sis  Suky,  didn'  you  know  ?  Jesus  is  de 
name  ob  de  kin'  li'l  boy  dat's  in  de  li'l  brown  book." 

Catching  a  glimpse  of  her  mistress  coming  down  the 
street,  the  jubilant  Suky  ran  forward  to  greet  her. 

"  Bress  de  Lawd,  Miss  Carrie,"  she  called, 
"  M'lindy's  done  got  religion  ! " 

"  Is  I?     Is  I,  Miss  Carrie?  "  asked  Melindy. 


CHAPTER  III 

CONCERNING  FRIENDSHIP 

MELINDY  had  the  social  instinct  strongly  developed. 

Every  day  she  returned  from  school  trailing  a  line 
of  dusky  followers  behind  her.  Large-eyed  and  sol 
emn,  they  would  regard  her  in  charmed  silence,  while 
Melindy  prattled  and  chattered  on  unwearied,  flashing 
her  bright  teeth  and  brighter  eyes,  twirling  on  her 
light  heels,  posturing  and  gesticulating,  very  con 
scious  of  her  attractions. 

Indeed,  there  was  sometimes  a  suspicion  in  the  eyes 
of  her  mistress  that  Melindy  clung  to  her  friends 
more  for  their  utility  as  an  applauding  audience  than 
for  any  fascinating  quality  of  their  minds  or  hearts. 

Chief  of  these  constant  satellites  were  Remus  and 
Ramus,  more  generally  known  among  their  associates 
as  "  C'lina  Dinah's  Stupid  Twinses." 

Remus  was  a  girl,  tall,  gaunt,  dingy  yellow,  with 
lightish  hair, —  that  unusual  gift,  highly  prized  by 
the  negro,  but  invariably  hideous  upon  him  and  re 
pellent  to  the  Caucasian  eye.  It  was  braided  in  two 
"  pigtails,"  so  tightly  drawn  from  her  forehead  that 
her  eyebrows  remained  involuntarily  lifted  in  an  ex 
pression  of  unending  surprise. 

Ramus,  her  brother,  was  her  exact  counterpart  in 

17 


18  Melindy 

feature  and  coloring,  but  he  lacked  her  stature  and 
was  delicate  and  stoop-shouldered.  His  box-like 
head  was  shaved  close  and  turned  round  on  his  too- 
slender  neck,  as  the  picturesque  speech  of  Melindy 
put  it,  "  dess  essackly  lak  a  sick  chickum  lookin'  for 
help." 

Their  mother,  C'lina  Dinah,  was  a  busy  washer- 
woman-by-the-day,  a  visiting  laundress  much  in  de 
mand. 

Said  she,  "  Suttinly  it  am  a  blessin'  dem  chillun 
done  come  in  pairs.  Fo'  dey's  allus  Remus  teh  look 
atter  Ramus,  an'  Ramus  teh  look  atter  Remus.  Ef 
dey  had  done  come  sep'rate  I'd  shorely  had  teh  gi'n 
*em  away  long  ago.  I  ain'  got  no  time  teh  see  teh 
nothin'." 

Her  care,  however,  was  greater  than  her  statement 
of  it.  For  Remus  and  Ramus  always  shone  with  soap 
as  if  they  had  been  polished  and  so  bristled  with 
starch  that  they  crackled  —  to  Melindy 's  joy  —  when 
they  sat  down. 

Melindy 's  dashing  ways  were  the  one  glimpse  of 
grace  that  dazzled  the  dull  eyes  of  the  "  twinses," 
her  bright  imaginings  the  one  little  lattice  through 
which  they  peeped  into  fairyland. 

They  would  pretend  to  be  anything  she  wished  of 
them, —  horses  to  draw  her  chariot  when  she  was 
"  lady's  maid  to  de  Queen  ob  Yurrup,"  lambs  for  her 
to  devour  when  she  was  a  "  rarin'  tearin'  bear,"  and 
pupils  to  be  punished  unceasingly  when  she  played 
teacher. 


Concerning  Friendship  19 

They  were  even  jealous  of  her  less  constant  follow 
ers.  These  were  roly-poly  Lucy,  fat,  slow,  black  and 
pretty  and  chronically  gummy  with  all-day-suckers, 
— an  adamantine  sweetmeat  perched  on  the  end  of  a 
little  stick, —  and  Artemisia  Yunnersuckle.  Arte 
misia  was  blase,  grown-up  at  thirteen.  She  was  em 
ployed  to  "  mind  a  baby  "  for  an  hour  every  after 
noon  and  gloried  in  the  importance  this  charge  gave 
her,  though  it  made  her  leave  her  playmates  earlier. 
Last  of  these  were  grinning  little  Nanny  who  stut 
tered, — "  her  ma  cooked  fo'  de  Mayor  " —  and  big 
Jake,  the  woodchopper's  boy,  who  rarely  spoke 
at  all. 

On  the  afternoons  when  her  little  white  companions, 
the  children  in  the  Big  House,  were  practising  for 
their  music  lessons  or  away  at  dancing  school,  Melindy 
would  lead  her  little  colored  friends  to  their  places  in 
a  circle  under  the  mulberry  tree, —  a  magical  shady 
place  back  of  the  house,  the  sweet  grass  under  the 
tree  a  literal  carpet  of  the  mild-flavored,  cool  purple 
berries. 

"  Eat  yo'  fill,"  Melindy  would  invite  grandly, 
"  Miss  Carrie  say  yer  kin.  An'  now  lissen  ter  me  — ." 

Thenceforward  the  musical  appealing  lilt  of  her 
voice  was  heard,  expounding,  exhorting,  declaiming, 
interrupted  scarcely  at  all  in  its  smooth  flow  by  the 
occasional  interjections  of  the  others. 

"You  Art'misyer,"  said  Melindy,  one  beautiful 
day,  "  you  got  teh  stop  dat  cryin'  an'  a-carryin'  on. 
S'pose  you  did  go  an'  lose  yo'  place  tendin'  teh  dat 


20  Melindy 

ugly,  li'l  red-haided  baby  ob  Jedge  Slocum's.  Ain't 
yo'  ma  got  ten  er  twelve  babies  for  you  ter  tend 
teh?  " 

"  'Tain't  dat,  Melindy,"  wailed  poor  Artemisia,  "  I 
shore  doan'  want  fo'  no  mo'  babies  teh  tend.  An' 
'tain't  de  money  I  cyah's  'bout,  'cause  I  nebber  got 
no  money.  But  Jedge  Slocum  done  call  me  a  plumb 
fool  nigger  and  Mis'  Slocum  done  say  'twan't  no  use 
bein'  kind  teh  me,  'cause  I  ain't  got  no  heart.  And 
I  is  got  a  heart,  Melindy.  I's  got  two  ob  'em,  right 
hyah  in  ma  wrists.  You  kin  hear  'em  beat." 

Melindy  eyed  her  with  suspicion. 

"  Sho'  you  is,  Art'misyer,"  she  crooned  comfort 
ingly,  rubbing  her  little  round  cheek  upon  the  other's 
bony  shoulder.  "  But,  honey,  what  is  you  done  teh 
dat  Slocum  baby?  How-come  Miss  Jedge  Slocum  to 
say  you  ain't  got  no  heart?  " 

Artemisia  kindled  with  the  outrage. 

"  Done  nothin'  but  be  kind  to  it. 

"  Looky,  Melindy.  Dis  hyah  mulb'ry  is  Miss 
Jedge  Slocum  and  dis  hyah  mulb'ry  is  me,  and  dis 
hyah  li'l  spoiled  red  mulb'ry  is  dat  ole  li'l  spoiled  red 
kid  o'  de  Slocums.  Now  speak  up,  mulb'ries,  an' 
show  'em  what  we  done  done." 

Then,  moving  each  mulberry  as  she  spoke  for  it, 
after  the  manner  of  marionettes,  Artemisia  said: 

"  '  Now,  Art'misyer,  I'se  gwine  out.' 

"  '  Yes'm,  Miss  Slocum.' 

"  '  Doan'  let  de  baby  cry,  Art'misyer.' 

"  «  No'm,  Miss  Slocum.' 


Concerning  Friendship  21 

"'Give  him  whatebber  he  asks  fo'  to  play  wif, 
Art'misyer.' 

"  '  Yes'm,  Miss  Slocum.' 

" '  Be  special  keerful  an'  doan'  let  him  git  fretful, 
Art'misyer.' 

"  <  No'm,  Miss  Slocum.' 

"  *  Be  kind  an'  patient,  Art'misyer.' 

"  <  Yes'm,  Miss  Slocum.' 

"  <  Good-by,  Art'misyer.'  " 

Here  the  "  Miss  Slocum  "  mulberry  was  removed 
from  the  scene. 

"  *  Ya-h-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a !  * 

"  '  Hesh  up,  chile,  hesh  up !  Didn'  you  hear  yo' 
ma  say  not  teh  cry ! ' 

" '  Ya-h-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-h.' 

"  '  What  you  want,  honey  plum?  Oh !  is  you  'fraid 
ob  dat  ole  yaller  spider?  Well,  now,  den  I'll  tek  him 
away.' 

"<Ya-h-a-a-a-a!> 

"'Oh!  you  wants  de  spider?  Well,  dearie,  den 
hyah  it  is.  Yo'  ma  done  said  you  could  hab  what 
ebber  you  wanted  for.  Yeah's  de  spider.  Take  it.' 

"  Now,  I  axes  you,  M'lindy, —  I  dess  axes  you," 
sobbingly,  "  did  I  done  tole  dat  baby  teh  eat  up  dat 
spider  like  he  done  ?  " 

"  'Cose  not,  Art'misyer.  But  yer  see,  dat  Miss 
Slocum,  she's  got  red  hair,  and  de  Jedge  he  ain't  got 
no  hair  'tall,  but  his  haid's  good  an'  red,  an'  de  baby's 
got  red  hair,  too.  And  I  wouldn't  nebber  work  fo' 
nobody  whar's  got  red  hair,  'cause  dey  jes'  natch'ly 


22  Melindy 

ain't  got  no  patience, —  red  hairs  ain't.  An'  I 
wouldn't  work  fo'  Miss  Jedge  Slocum,  nohow,  not  ef 
she  had  blue  hair  wif  green  trimmin's.  'Cause  she's 
alluz  complainin'  erbout  de  weather.  Ebery  day's  too 
hot,  er  too  cole,  er  too  wet  er  too  dry  fo'  po'  Miss 
Jedge  Slocum.  An'  I  tells  you,  Art'misyer,  dat  ef  de 
Lord  can't  please  her,  I  ain't  a  goin'  teh  try  to. 

"  Now,  hesh  yo'  cryin*,  and  I'll  tell  you-all  about  de 
beau'ful  li'l  new  Spanish  friend  I  got  — " 

"  Doan'  want  teh  hear  'bout  her ;  you'se  alluz  git- 
tin'  new  friends,  M'lindy.  Me'n  Ramus  we  thinks 
you'se  got  'nough  friends,  we  does,"  grumbled  Remus 
jealously. 

"  Oh-ho !  "  dimpled  Melindy,  proudly,  "  dat's  dess 
'cause  you-all  likes  me  so  much,  'cause  I'se  so  pleas 
ant.  But  you  ain't  got  no  call  teh  be  jealous  of  dis 
hyah  new  friend ;  'cause  she  don't  know  she's  a  friend 
ob  mine.  She  ain't  nebber  met  me  yet." 

"  How-come  she's  a  friend  ob  your'n,  den,  ef  you 
am'  nebber  met  her?  "  rumbled  the  taciturn  Jacob. 

"  Ye-e-e-s.  How  —  c-c-ome  — "  struggled  Nanny 
and  subsided. 

"  She's  ma  friend,  'cause  I  likes  her  for  my  friend, 
dat's  all.  An'  she  can  dance,  like  dis,"  pirouetted 
Melindy. 

Hidden  under  Melindy's  self-satisfaction  was  a 
touch  of  humility  that  made  her  desire  a  comrade  to 
whom  she  could  look  upward,  whom  she  could  admire 
as  her  friends  exalted  her, —  someone  to  lead  her  im 
agination  as  she  led  Ramus's.  To  be  sure,  she  de- 


Concerning  Friendship  23 

lighted  in  a  continued  imitation  of  the  four  little  white 
comrades,  the  children  of  her  mistress.  But  here  was 
a  difference  in  kind.  Here,  too,  was  a  little  of  that 
familiarity  which  lessens  hero-worship.  Thus  she  ad 
mired  and  emulated  her  "  li'l  Miss  Eulalia's  "  graces ; 
but  she  knew  her  to  be  stubborn  on  occasion  and  had 
seen  her  justly  spanked. 

Also,  there  lay  in  this  simple  little  heart  that  touch 
of  snobbery  that  is  native  to  the  negro, —  a  desire  to 
flash  upon  the  astonished  gaze  of  her  dusky  compan 
ions  a  playmate  grander  than  they. 

One  day,  walking  through  streets  unknown  to  her, 
Melindy  had  come  upon  a  large  and  stately  red  build 
ing,  set  in  a  garden  of  many  paths.  A  heavy  brick 
fence,  topped  with  broken  glass,  surrounded  it.  Me 
lindy  had  been  able  to  see  the  garden  only  by  peeping 
through  the  inch-wide  squares  in  a  green  lattice-gate 
set  into  the  fence. 

Within,  she  had  seen  sisters  of  charity  walking 
gravely  to  and  fro,  while  many  children  romped  on  the 
paths. 

"  Wha's  dem  pale  li'l  ladies  in  sad  clothes  doin'  wif 
all  dem  chilluns?  "  she  asked  herself. 

"  Dey  can't  be  orfums,  'cause  dey  ain't  got  on  dem 
li'l  all-like  dresses,"  she  thought,  "  an'  dey  can't  be  a 
school,  'cause  it's  done  past  de  school-time.  What 
is  dem  chilluns  ?  " 

Melindy  had  never  heard  of  a  convent  boarding- 
school,  certainly  not  of  such  a  school  as  this,  where 
most  of  the  pupils  were  the  children  of  South  Amer- 


24  Melindy 

lean  Spaniards,  many  burned  by  the  tropical  sun  into 
duskiness  that  made  Melindy  think  them  akin  to  her 
self. 

One  little  girl  attracted  her.  Her  own  character 
istics  recognized  themselves.  This  child  was  the  cen 
ter  of  all  excitement.  Wherever  her  slim  little  legs 
darted  the  whole  flock  followed.  When  she  laughed 
her  light  bird-laugh,  all  laughed  and  chirped  and  twit 
tered.  When  she  ceased,  all  quieted.  This  child 
only,  the  gentle  sisters  restrained  when  the  play  waxed 
too  boisterous. 

"  Quietly,  Hecuba,  quietly,"  they  would  admonish, 
and  the  uproar  was  stilled, —  for  a  moment,  until 
'Cuba's  spirits  broke  bounds  again. 

Hecuba  was  light  as  a  butterfly,  lithe  as  a  lizard, 
darkly  beautiful.  Not  Ferdinand,  not  Prospero,  not 
Ariel  ever  charmed  Miranda  more  completely  than  lit 
tle  Melindy  was  enthralled  by  the  witch-^child,  Hecuba. 

Almost  daily,  at  every  opportunity,  after  that  first 
sight  of  her,  she  stole  away  to  watch  Hecuba  at  play. 
Usually  eager  to  be  seen  herself  and  admired,  now  her 
timid  desire  was  merely  to  stay  in  the  shadow,  to  peep 
unseen  and  adoring  through  the  latticed  gate.  Al 
ways  a  leader,  original  and  daring,  it  was  now  her 
secret  satisfaction  to  ape  Hecuba's  example.  Her 
deepest  delight  was  to  find  that  her  small  reflection  in 
the  water-lily  pool  could  by  the  magic  of  mimicry  be 
made  to  resemble  Hecuba's. 

She  was  late  in  coming  home  after  school  almost 
daily,  to  Suky's  indignation  and  Remus's  disgust,  for 


Concerning  Friendship  25 

Melindy  must  make  the  detour  that  afforded  an  ec 
static  peep  at  her  unconscious  friend. 

In  her  inner  self  she  had  made  a  heart-comrade  of 
Hecuba,  who  never  looked  through  the  lattice  and  had 
never  seen  the  worshiping  brown  eyes  glowing  through 
the  little  squares. 

"  De  sisters  done  call  her  c  beautiful  Cuba,' "  Me 
lindy  went  on  to  the  Twinses  and  the  others,  "  and 
she  sho'  is  beautiful,  chilluns.  She  walk  erlong  (lis- 
er  way  an'  she  walk  erlong  dat-er  way  an'  her  skirts 
go  swishy-wishy-squishy  like  a  lady's.  An'  she  spring 
on  her  tippy  toes!  And  sassy!  She  even  made  up 
faces  at  de  teachers." 

"  Dey  is  sisters,  an'  she  ain't  got  no  call  teh  make 
up  faces  at  dem,"  grunted  Remus.  "  I  ain't  no  beau 
tiful  Cuby,  Melindy,  but  I  done  got  better  manners 
den  dat.  My  ma  ain't  fetched  me  up  teh  make  up 
faces  at  nobody." 

"  No,  Melindy,"  Ramus  followed  his  twin's  lead, 
"  she  done  been  brung  up  orful  bad,  dat  'Cuby  is. 
We  wouldn't  nebber  make  up  ugly  faces  at  nobody 
'tall." 

A  strange  transformation  took  place  in  the  gentle 
Melindy.  In  defense  of  her  beloved  "  friend  "  she  de 
veloped  unsuspected  qualities.  Her  placidity  turned 
to  rancour.  Her  desire  to  be  "  pleasant "  vanished. 
Even  her  winsome  affectionateness,  her  love  of  peace 
and  amiable  tendency  to  flattery  fled  before  her  wrath. 

Cruelly  she  called  out,  to  the  faithful  twins,  "  No, 
you  wouldn't  make  up  ugly  faces  at  nobody,  you 


26  Melindy 

wouldn't.  And  more  den  dat,  you  wouldn't  need  teh. 
All  you'd  need  teh  do  is  jess  ter  look  at  dem  wif  yo' 
own  faces." 

Ramus,  after  one  shocked  glance  began  to  cry. 
Remus  rose  in  hurt  dignity  and  took  his  hand. 

"  A'right  f  o'  you,  M'lindy.  We'uns  ain'  gwine 
play  wif  you  no  mo',"  she  cried  as  they  went  gravely, 
sadly  away,  crackling  with  starch  and  indignation. 

Art'misyer  and  Lucy  sniggered  delightedly  and 
even  Jake  and  Nanny  grinned  appreciation  at  Me- 
lindy's  sally.  It  was  indeed  apparent  that  Remus 
and  Ramus  were  not  things  of  beauty. 

But  Melindy  felt  no  triumph,  no  pleasure  in  their 
applause.  For  the  first  time  her  self-complacency  was 
disturbed;  she  was  not  proud  of  Melindy.  For  the 
first  time,  she  had  consciously  hurt  another.  She  felt 
hurt  herself  and  conscience-stricken  and,  after  the 
manner  of  hasty  guilt,  angry  with  her  victims. 

Hot  tears  burned  her  eyes.  Her  soft  mouth  quiv-v 
ered.  She  swallowed  hard. 

"  Well,"  she  murmured  in  self -justification,  "  dey 
suttinly  shouldn'  a  said  sech  low-down  meanness  about 
Cuby.  *Cause  she  is  nice  Cuby  is,  nicer'n  anybody. 
Good-by,  you  all.  I  guess  I'll  go  see  Cuby  now." 

But  Artemisia,  who  enjoyed  rousing  angry  pas 
sions  in  herself  for  others,  was  not  willing  to  have  the 
excitement  abate. 

"  Cuby's  a-norful  funny  name  fo'  a  pusson. 
Cuby's  a  city  whar  de  big  brown  cigars  and  de  li'l 
brown  bananas  comes  fum." 


Concerning  Friendship  27 

"  It's  a  lubly,  lubly,  dubly  name,"  sobbed  Melindy 
in  tears.  "  It  ain't  Cuby  anyhow.  Mas'r  George 
says  it's  Hecuby.  But  I  said  it  must  be  She-cuby, 
'cause  Cuby's  a  li'l  gal.  Shecuby  is  so  pretty ;  it-is- 
so!" 

Melindy  hastened  toward  the  sisters'  school,  trying 
to  nourish  a  vision  of  Beautiful  Cuba  in  her  bright, 
wayward  gayety.  But  always  and  always  a  little 
rope  of  conscience  pulled  the  door  of  her  imagination 
until  it  closed  upon  that  pleasing  picture.  Through 
less  pretentious  entrance  came  the  tear-stained  face  of 
Ramus  and  Remus's  sad  surprise. 

They  had  followed  her  with  dog-like  fidelity  for 
years,  all  her  life  it  seemed  to  Melindy.  Now,  never 
more  was  she  to  be  the  fay  of  their  fairyland.  She 
had  banished  herself  from  their  love.  So  many  re 
membered  acts  of  fealty,  so  warm  a  sense  of  their  con 
stant  affection  rose  to  smite  her  that  she  ran  to  the 
red  schoolhouse  to  fortify  her  soul  by  a  happy  pil 
grimage  to  the  beautiful  friend  for  whose  sake  she 
had  offended  them. 

Perhaps  Cuba  would  see  her  to-day.  Perhaps  she 
would  take  some  notice.  Her  heart  beat  quickly,  as 
the  radiant  hope  flooded  her  being  and  bore  away  the 
memory  of  the  injured  "  twinses  "  from  her  mercurial 
soul. 

Hecuba  Inez  di  Hernandez,  the  most  difficult  charge 
ever  inflicted  upon  the  good  sisters  in  the  stately  red 
convent,  had  just  reached  the  climax  of  insubordina 
tion.  After  a  day  of  passionate  homesickness  and 


28  Melin3y 

wild  rebellion  she  had  climbed  into  the  topmost 
branches  of  the  fig-tree.  There,  safely  beyond  her 
guardians'  reach,  she  regaled  herself  upon  sweet  for 
bidden  fruit  and  bitter  sulkiness. 

The  sisters,  expostulation  having  failed  to  affect 
her,  had  fulfilled  their  dread  threat  and  sent  for  the 
priest  to  help  them. 

Hecuba,  inwardly  quaking,  outwardly  laughed 
scornfully.  Melindy,  on  the  pavement  below,  recog 
nizing  her  voice  and  not  much  surprised  to  hear  it 
descend  from  the  delightful  green  fastnesses  of  the 
fig-tree,  lifted  her  eyes  and  saw  the  angry,  tear-stained 
face  of  her  inamorata. 

Sympathy  and  the  fellowship  of  guilt  made  her  ex 
claim,  unthinkingly,  "  Why,  'Cuba,  what  is  you  doin' 
up  dar?  What's  de  matter,  po'  li'l  Cuba?  Tell  yo' 
Melindy." 

Hecuba  glared  upon  her  and  said  nothing. 

"  Doan'  be  'fraid,"  coaxed  the  sweet  wheedling 
voice  of  Melindy,  "I'se  only  jess  li'l  Melindy.  I'se 
yo'  li'l  friend,  I  is.  I  wants  teh  befriend  you,  Cuba, 
-. — 'cause  I  is  yo'  friend.  You  tell  yo'  li'l  bes'  friend, 
Melindy,  all  about  it !  " 

"  Go  'way !  Go  'way !  Speak  not  to  me !  "  ven 
tured  Cuba  in  her  limited  English. 

"  I  isn't  'fraid,  honey,"  smiled  Melindy,  "  you 
lem-me  comfort  you.  I'se  jess  a  lubly  li'l  comfort. 
You  and  me  we  lubs  us,  us  does." 

The  irritated,  nervous,  reckless  heiress  of  the  Her 
nandez,  already  ablaze  with  the  bitterness  of  life,  in- 


Concerning  Friendship  29 

furiated  at  this  persistent  plebeian  familiarity, 
reached  from  the  fig-tree  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  seized 
a  loose  bit  of  broken  glass,  and  hurled  it  fiercely  full 
upon  Melindy. 

The  jagged  edge  hit  the  child's  forehead  and  made 
an  ugly  cut.  Trickling  blood  and  sudden  bitter  tears 
flowed  together. 

Melindy's  wail  of  fright  and  grief  and  pain  brought 
the  sisters  hurrying  to  the  door. 

"  Look,  oh,  look !  "  one  cried  sorrowfully.  "  See 
what  our  beautiful  Cuba  has  done !  " 

"  Beautiful  nothin' !  "  sobbed  Melindy,  as  they  led 
her  in  to  be  tended,  "  They  ain't  nothin'  beautiful 
about  her!" 

Beautiful  Hecuba  sat  in  the  tree  and  took  no  heed. 
Little  she  could  dream  what  part  in  after  days,  Me 
lindy  would  play  in  her  destiny. 

Sad  little  Melindy,  escorted  by  two  kind  sisters, 
went  silently  home  through  the  last  evening  light. 
Her  head  was  throbbing  and  her  heart  was  sore. 

"Remus  wouldn't  nebber  done  dat  teh  me,"  she 
thought,  "she  thinks  I'se  jess  liibly,  Remus  does. 
And  I  is  a-gwine  teh  be  jess  lubly  teh  Remus, —  ef 
she'll  ebber  f orgib  me  f  o'  talkin'  teh  her  so  mean." 

Down  in  her  heart  she  knew  that  Remus  would. 

Before  the  gate  of  the  Big  White  House,  stood  the 
Twinses  themselves.  In  the  dim  light  they  did  not 
notice  the  dark  outer  bandage  Melindy  wore  about 
her  head,  did  not  realize  that  she  and  the  sisters  were 
of  one  party. 


30  Melindy 

"  Melindy,  honey,"  said  poor  Remus  haltingly,  in 
a  breaking  voice,  "  we'se  sorry  we  went  away  mad, 
we  suttinly  is." 

Melindy  hugged  her  close  and  put  out  her  hand  for 
Ramus. 

"  I  jess  lubs  you,  I  does.  We  jess  lubs  us,  us 
does,"  she  said. 

"  I  know  we  ain't  so  pretty  — "  began  Ramus. 

"  Shet  up ! "  Melindy  commanded  with  her  fetch 
ing,  smiling,  jesting  dictatorialness.  "  Lem-me  tell 
you  somep'n  'bout  pretty.  They's  pretty  outsides,  an' 
they's  pretty  insides.  I'se  got  pretty  outsides,  but 
you'se  got  pretty  insides,  Twinses." 

.  "  How  come  you  got  dat  sore  haid?     What  done  hit 
you?  "  cried  Remus  in  alarm. 

Melindy  hesitated. 

"Oh,"  she  said  slowly,  "I  jess  got  —  a  —  li'l  — 
bit  —  hurted.  Tain't  nothin'.  Go  home  now,  Twin 
ses." 

They  went  obediently. 

The  sisters  came  out  from  the  shadow.  "  Why  did 
you  not  tell  the  children  that  Hecuba  hit  you?  "  asked 
one  of  them. 

"Well,  you  see,  m'am,"  said  Melindy,  in  a  slow, 
puzzled  tone,  "  seems  lak  I  dess  couldn't  tell  on  Cuba. 
'Cause  Cuba,  she's  —  she  used  teh  be  —  ma  friend." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  BRIGHT  FACE  OF  DANGER 

LITTLE  Miss  Eulalia  was  explaining  to  Melindy 
the  necessity  of  being  careful  in  the  stables. 

Miss  Eulalia  was  five  years  old  and  very  dignified 
and  proper.  Except  for  an  occasional  redeeming 
outburst  of  wilfulness,  she  was  a  good  child,  with 
every  ruffle,  even  every  dimple,  firmly,  precisely  placed 
and  a  profound  respect  for  rules  and  for  authority. 

She  had  learned  so  many  maxims  that  her  uncles 
compared  her  prattle  to  a  series  of  the  "  How-to-be- 
good  "  cards  framed  and  exalted  in  the  homes  of  the 
bourgeoisie.  But  for  all  her  perfection,  there  was  a 
sweet  graciousness  about  Eulalia  and  a  perfect  free 
dom  from  self-consciousness  that  gave  her  virtues  a 
decided  allurement. 

"  You  mus'  be  carefuller,"  she  instructed  Melindy, 
as  the  two  sat  on  the  white  steps  threading  four- 
o'clock  blossoms  on  strands  of  ribbon-grass.  "  You 
mus'  be  carefuller,  Melindy,  and  not  go  right  straight 
up  to  every  horse  that  'way.  'Specially  in  other 
folks'  stables." 

"  Law,  Missy,"  said  Melindy  loftily,  "  who  is  li'l 
you  ?  And  teachin'  Melindy  about  hosses !  Why, 
chile  alive,  I  was  borned  and  raised  on  a  horse." 

31 


32  Melindy 

"  Well,  Melindy,  maybe  you  understand  the  horse 
you  was  born  and  raised  on.  But  every  horse  is  dif 
ferent.  You  know  about  Mabel  up  at  Pellatros'. 
Every  time  we  went  to  Pellatros',  Cousin  Nathalie  — 
this  was  when  Cousin  Nathalie  was  home  —  used  to 
go  in  the  stable  and  go  and  see  all  the  horses.  And 
Miss  Helena  Pellatro  used  to  say,  '  Be  careful  of 
Mabel ;  he's  a  very  naughty  horse,  he  bites  people  an' 
runs  away.'  And  Cousin  Nathalie  only  laughed. 
But  once  Mabel, —  Cousin  Nathalie  hetched, — 
hatched, —  hitched  —  Ah!  that's  it  —  hitcheded  him 
on  to  a  wagon  and  they  started.  And  a  whole  lot  o' 
men  and  ladies  was  on  this  wagon.  An'  then  they 
were  going.  An'  Mabel  ranned  very  fast,  galloped 
•very  fast.  An'  then  everybody  fell  out  the  wagon. 
And  Mademoiselle  —  this  was  when  Mademoiselle  was 
here  —  hurt  her  soldier  —  shouldier  —  an'  one  of  the 
ladies  that  did  fell  off  did  got  lame  for  a  week. 

"  An'  after  that  I  don't  think  —  I  say  I  don't  think 
—  they  never  used  Mabel  any  more,  because  he  did 
do  that  accident. 

"  Flossie  was  a  very,  very,  very  good  horse,  and 
pretty.  An'  they  used  that  after  that. 

"  So  you  see,  all  horses  are  different,  Melindy." 

"  Yes'm,  Missy,"  replied  Melindy,  "  so  dey  is.  So 
dey  is.  But  big,  black  Jedge  whar  liPs  up  his  feet 
so  high,  like  dis  " —  acting  a  jovial  prance  —  "  he 
ain't  gwine  hurt  nobody.  And  Rastus  done  say  I 
kin  go  out  drivin'  behine  him  some  er  dese  fine  days, 


The  Bright  Face  of  Danger          33 

when  Black  Jedge  go  fo'  he  exercise.  Maybe  to 
day!" 

"  Did  Mr.  Winfield  tell  Rastus  you  could  go,  Me- 
lindy?" 

Rastus  was  the  negro  groom  of  Mr.  Winfield,  a 
horse-loving  neighbor. 

Melindy  chuckled.  "  Now,  Miss  'Lalia,"  she  said 
sweetly,  "  doan'  you  go  worry  you  li'l  haid  'bout  dat. 
Rastus  done  tole  me  I  could  go.  An'  what  Mr.  Win- 
field  an'  Rastus  done  tole  each  yuther  or  ain't  done 
tole  each  yuther  ain't  none  o'  my  buryin'.  Ef  Ras 
tus  ain't  tole,  I  isn't  a-gwine-teh. 

"  An  speakin*  o'  buryin's, —  what  you  'spec,  Missy? 
Arter  dat  time  I  fell  offen  de  roof,  a  life  insu'ance 
nigger-man  he  come-long,  an'  wanted  Sis  Suky  teh  git 
ma  life  insu'ed,  an'  she  most  done  it." 

"  What  d'ye  mean, —  life  insured?  " 

Melindy  rose  and  danced  a  little  tarantella  of  pride. 

"  Glory ! "  she  cried,  "  li'l  brack  Melindy  knows 
more'n  de  white  chilluns.  Life  insu'ance  is  what  you 
git  paid  f  o'  dyin'." 

"In  Heaven?" 

"  No'm.  Yer  folks  gits  de  money.  Dey  goes  an* 
says,  '  Well,  sah,  M'lindy's  dead ;  now  pay  me.'  An' 
the  insu'ance  folks,  dey  says,  '  What  was  she  wuth  to 
you  ? '  And  dat's  one  reason  I  doan'  want  Sis  Suky 
to  buy  no  insu'ance  on  me ;  'cause  she  alluz  says  I'se 
wuthless  and  I  knows  she'd  fergit  an*  answer  'em, 
6  Nothin'  'tall,  sah ! '  an'  nebber  git  a  penny. 


34  Melindy 

"  But  dat  ain't  de  really,  truly  reason  I  done  per 
suaded  Sis  Suky  not  to  buy  no  insurance  on  me.  The 
real  thing  that  sot  me  agin'  it  was  a  calendar  dat  in- 
su'ance  man  had  wif  a  pretty  picture,  showin'  some 
dead  pusson's  relations  gittin'  paid.  An',  honey- 
plum,  dey  all  look  so  puffictly  happy,  an'  dey  was 
dressed  all  up  in  pink!  When  I  die  it's  gwine  teh  be 
sad  enough  fo'  somebody  to  wear  black.  Ef  dey 
doan't  I  sho'ly  will  come  back  an'  ha'nt  'em." 

"  Hey-ey-o !  You,  Melindy !  "  a  voice  called  over 
the  azalea  hedge,  "  Hey,  you !  " 

"  Dere's  Rastus  now,  and  Jedge,"  squealed  Me 
lindy,  as  the  beautiful  black  horse  came  to  an  impa 
tient  stand  before  the  gate.  "  Good-by,  Miss  'Lalia, 
I'se  gwine-a-ridin'  wif  Rastus,  behine  de  f  as'es'  beauty 
horse  in  Noo  'Leans.  Doan'  you  tell  nobody."  And 
she  darted  forward. 

"  Oh,  Melindy !  You  better  ask  Suky,"  called  the 
virtuous  Eulalia. 

But  Melindy  had  sped  down  the  walk  on  the  tips  of 
her  flying  toes  and  was  already  seated  in  the  exercise 
cart  beside  grinning  Rastus,  himself  as  great  a  child 
as  she. 

Black  Judge,  whose  respectable  name  misrepre 
sented  his  lawless  spirit,  darted  down  the  street,  break 
ing  all  speed  laws  as  cheerily  as  the  two  other  mem 
bers  of  the  rebellious  trio  were  breaking  the  rules  of 
their  households. 

Eulalia  stood  sadly  in  the  midst  of  the  discarded 
four-o'clock  blooms.  Then  she  gathered  them  neatly 


The  Bright  Face  of  Danger          35 

into  her  apron,  cleared  the  steps  of  the  last  leafy 
trace  and  stolidly  went  indoors.  She  did  not  betray 
Melindy. 

But  as  the  hours  went  by  without  bringing  the  re 
turn  of  her  playmate,  more  and  more  often  the  anx 
ious  little  figure  appeared  at  the  gateway,  looking  up 
and  down  the  street  and  holding  back  the  tears  with 
scant  success. 

Soon  the  sudden  darkness  fell.  There  are  no  true 
twilights  in  Louisiana.  It  is  always  intense  day  or 
languid  night. 

The  dinner  chimes  sounded.  The  early  stars  shone 
forth. 

Poor  little  Eulalia!  Torn  between  anxiety  that 
prompted  her  to  confide  in  the  adult  rulers  of  her 
world  and  the  loyalty, —  so  early  learned  by  a  girl 
with  brothers, —  that  makes  talebearing  a  high  crime, 
poor  little  Eulalia  fastened  her  eyes  upon  the  first  star 
that  met  her  lifted  gaze.  She  repeated  breathlessly 
five  times,  this  magic  rhyming  panacea : 

"Star,  star,  star  bright, 
Very  first  star  I  see  to-night, 
I  wiss,  I  wiss,  I  wiss  I  might, 
Get  the  wiss  I  wiss  to-night ! " 

Then,  with  perfect  faith,  she  wished  for  Melindy's 
return  —  that  she  might  come  safely  home  before 
Suky  missed  her,  as  Suky  soon  must  do.  For  Me 
lindy  was  being  instructed  to  wait  upon  the  table, 
and  dinner  time  was  near. 


36  Melindy 

Eulalia  entered  the  house  feeling  secure  and  happy. 
The  first  star  had  never  failed  her. 

But  now,  alas!  her  faith  in  the  charm  was  to  be 
shaken.  For,  as  she  crossed  the  threshold  of  the 
great  door,  Peter  and  Eustace  her  "  little  big  broth 
ers  "  came  rioting  down  the  broad  stairway,  shouting 
excitedly,  "  Where's  Melindy  ?  Suky  says  Melindy 
isn't  home,  Mother !  "  And  faintly  from  the  rear  of 
the  house  could  be  heard  Suky's  high  voice,  "  Me 
lindy  !  Come  right  hyah  dis  minute !  " 

Eulalia  trembled. 

"  Don't  worry,  dear  I "  came  the  master's  cheery,  re 
assuring  voice,  calling  to  the  mistress.  "  The  little 
imp's  gone  off  to  pay  a  visit  somewhere.  You  know 
she  never  did  have  any  idea  of  time." 

"  To  be  sure,"  answered  Mother,  barely  relieved, 
"  but  no  one  has  seen  her  since  she  came  home  from 
school.  I  do  sometimes  think,  my  dear,  that  these 
little  pickaninnies  are  more  care  than  one's  own  chil 
dren.  They  are  so  doubly  irresponsible.  Where  can 
the  child  be?  " 

Eulalia  could  no  longer  be  silent.  Her  lovely 
mother  must  not  be  anxious  or  deceived. 

Timidly,  in  tears,  she  said,  "I  want  to  tell  you 
someping,"  and  unfolded  her  story. 

Remembering  the  wickedness  of  Mabel,  she  herself 
remained  full  of  fears.  But  the  rest  of  the  family 
and  even  Suky  felt  at  ease.  For  Rastus,  they  were 
sure,  would  take  care  of  Melindy. 

"  But,"  said  Suky  to  the  salad  dressing,  "  dis  hyah 


The  Bright  Face  of  Danger          37 

beatin'  you  is  glttin'  ain't  only  jess  fo'  you.  Not  by 
a  pretty  sight.  Dis  hyah  beatin'  is  what  Marse 
George's  dramatic  soci'ty  would  call  a  dress  rehearsal 
fo'  dat  pesky  li'l  no-count  nigger." 

But  when  dinner  had  been  eaten  and  the  wanderer 
had  not  returned  Suky's  ire  changed  to  alarm,  Miss 
Carrie  grew  perturbed,  the  boys  pestered  her  with 
troubled  questions,  Eulalia  sobbed  aloud  and  even  the 
wakeful  baby  called  "  'Lindy,  'Lindy ! "  from  his 
nursery  above-stairs. 

Still  no  sound  of  wheels  or  hoofs. 

Lewis,  the  butler,  was  despatched  to  the  Winfield 
home  and  returned  with  the  comfortless  message  that 
neither  Rastus  nor  Black  Judge  was  in  the  stable. 

Marse  George,  Lewis  and  Jacques,  the  gardener, 
started  off, —  they  knew  not  whither, — to  look  for 
clews. 

"  Find  her,  oh !  find  her,  my  dear,"  called  Miss  Car 
rie,  suddenly  realizing  how  deeply  the  child  had  grown 
into  her  heart. 

Poor  Suky  wept  in  the  kitchen  finding  no  solace 
even  in  dear  black  Mammy's  ample,  comforting  em 
brace. 

Meanwhile,  adventurous  Melindy  was  eagerly  en 
gaged  upon  the  great  adventure  of  her  life. 

She  had  started  off,  indeed,  behind  the  fastest 
beauty  in  New  Orleans.  Squeals  of  delight  from  lit 
tle  Melindy,  guffaws  of  proud  joy  from  big  Rastus 
floated  like  a  pennant  behind  their  progress. 

Melindy  had  not  greatly  exaggerated  when  she  said 


38  Meliridy 

that  she  was  "  horned  and  raised  "  on  horseback.  Her 
father  had  been  a  jockey  in  his  youth,  a  hanger-on 
about  racing  stables  in  his  later  years.  Suky  right 
eously  and  self -righteously  followed  the  tendencies  of 
her  mother,  who,  a  pillar  of  churchly  respectability 
and  a  blanchisseuse  of  note,  had  given  "  precious  li'l 
time  teh  dat  gallivantin'  man."  But  the  light-hearted 
Melindy  was  like  the  little  rider,  a  devotee  of  excite 
ment,  a  lover  of  horses. 

Through  the  city  streets  dashed  Black  Judge. 
Thence,  down  the  long  white  ribbon  of  shell-road  that 
lay  between  the  black  velvet  semi-tropical  woods  and 
the  silver  stream,  Bayou  St.  John,  away  they  sped. 

The  woods  were  full  of  yellow  jasmine  and  the  nar 
row  bayou  was  studded  with  purple  water-hyacinth. 
The  air  was  warm  and  sweet  and  the  afternoon  sun  a 
glory. 

Melindy  beamed  and  dimpled.  But,  "Does  you 
really  think  we'uns  kin  git  teh  de  Wes'  End  and  back 
befo'  dinner?  "  she  asked  with  a  sudden  qualm. 

"  No,  honey ;  not  befo'  befo'  dinner,  we  can't.  But 
we  kin  git  back  befo'  after  dinner." 

The  West  End,  a  languorous  lakeside  resort,  was 
still  several  miles  away.  Melindy  was  intoxicated 
with  the  hope  of  seeing  it.  Especially  she  nursed  a 
secret  wish  that  she  might  have  a  glimpse  of  Renyon's 
Circus,  a  group  of  dancers,  horsemen  and  gymnasts, 
who  —  Rastus  told  her  —  were  performing  that  week 
in  the  little  amphitheater. 

"  Dey's  got  a  li'l  gal  no  bigger'n  you  is,"  said  he, 


The  Bright  Face  of  Danger          39 

"who  dances  on  horseback,  M'lindy.  What's  dat? 
What  is  dat?  Oh!  Nothin'  but  de  jasmine." 

Through  the  trees  there  burst  upon  the  sight  a 
glowing,  abundant  mass  of  yellow  swamp- jasmine,  so 
wonderfully  golden  in  the  sun  that  Rastus  drew  rein 
to  admire  it. 

His  diplomatic  soul  moved  him  to  gather  some  of  it 
for  Mrs.  Winfield,  who  would  require  propitiation 
when  the  runaways  returned. 

Melindy  chafed  at  the  delay,  but  recognizing  that 
darkness  might  prevent  their  finding  this  cache  of  gold 
on  their  homeward  journey,  descended  too,  and  went 
into  the  swampy  woods  with  Rastus. 

Black  Judge  was  tied  to  a  tree. 

Few  negroes  have  any  notion  of  the  lapse  or  dura 
tion  of  time.  Rastus  and  Melindy  dallied  over  the 
jasmine,  ever  reaching  for  a  larger  spray,  ever  dis 
carding  one  in  hand  for  the  chance  of  a  better  or 
fuller. 

When,  at  length,  the  truants  emerged  from  the 
wood,  laden  with  the  fragrant  yellow  festoons,  both 
stood  speechless  with  horrible  fright. 

Black  Judge  and  the  buggy  had  vanished ! 

"  Oh-h-h !  "  wailed  Rastus,  "  whar  done  come  o' 
my  horse'n  buggy  ?  Oh-h !  — " 

"  Come  on,  Rastus,  we'll  find  'em,"  said  dauntless 
little  Melindy.  "  You  know  dat  ole  Jedge  horse. 
He's  so  stuck-up  and  hifalutin',  I  reckon  he  jess 
pulled  out  and  walked  along." 

But  she  spoke  without  confidence. 


40  Melindy 

Sadly  they  tried  to  follow  the  tracks  of  hoofs  and 
wheels.  But  the  shell-road  was  the  fashionable  drive 
way  of  the  town  and  tracks  were  multifold. 

This,  alas!  was  the  unfashionable  hour.  No  one 
passed  who  could  give  them  help. 

Rastus  bewailed  his  fate  and  sobbed  aloud  with 
grief  and  fear. 

Melindy,  with  terror-stricken  eyes,  watched  the 
road,  disdaining  him  in  her  soul. 

After  what  seemed  to  be  many  miles  of  anguished 
search,  darkness  fell. 

Melindy  lifted  her  face  to  the  heavens,  smiled  a  be 
atific  smile  of  relief  and  said  quickly,  five  times  over, 

"Stah!    Stah!    Stah  bright, 
Ve'y  first  stah  I  sees  tehnight, 
I  wush,  I  wush,  I  wush  I  might, 
Git  de  wush  I  wush  tehnight ! " 

Melindy's  magic  was  more  potent  than  Eulalia's, 
for  at  the  moment  that  the  charm  was  completed  part 
of  the  wish  came  true. 

Back  from  the  road,  under  a  wayside  pecan  tree, 
stood  the  horseless  buggy ! 

Melindy  rushed  forward  rejoicing;  but  there  was 
no  trace  of  the  horse  and  Rastus  raised  his  voice  in 
lamentation. 

"Whar's  ma  horse?  Oh-h!  Black  Jedge  dear, 
doan  you  hyeah  y  o'  Rastus  ?  What  call  had  any  pus- 
son  to  come  long  and  tuk  ma  lubly  horse  ?  Oh !  Marse 
Winfield  sho'  will  hab  ma  hide  f  o'  dis.  Oh !  Land  o' 
plenty ! " 


The  Bright  Face  of  Danger          41 

Melindy  could  stand  his  moans  no  longer. 

"  Shet  up,  yo'  Rastus !  Ain'  you  got  no  sense 
'tall?  Hollerin'  and  a-cryin'  all  over  de  road!  Jess 
lissen  teh  me!  Hyah  comes  some  white  folkses  in  a 
kerredge.  You  stop  'em  an'  tell  'em  what  a  fool  you 
is,  and  how-come  Black  Jedge  done  gone  got  stole. 
An'  you  git  a  seat  by  de  coachman  and  foller  up  de 
thief s  ef  you  kin.  Anyway  you  kin  tell  de  p'leecemen 
at  de  Wes'  End  to  hunt  'em.  An'  I'll  stay  hyah  in  de 
buggy  and  wait  'twell  you  come  back." 

"  Oh !  Melindy,  I'se  'f raid  teh  tell  dem  white  folkses 
I  done  let  Jedge  git  stole.  But  —  I  —  will !  I  will. 
Ain't  you  'fraid  to  stay  hyah  by  yo'se'f?  Dey's 
ghostes  in  de  swamps  at  night.  You  better  let  de 
buggy  be  and  come  'long  wif  me ! "  • 

But  plucky  Melindy,  partly  for  fear  of  losing  the 
buggy  as  well  as  the  horse,  partly  because  she  dreaded 
entering  an  atmosphere  of  blame  more  than  she  did 
the  terrors  of  the  woods,  elected  to  remain.  She 
rested  in  the  shadow  of  the  carriage  while  Rastus  fal- 
teringly  told  his  tale  to  the  amazed  "  white  folks,"  got 
his  "  lift  "  and  drove  away. 

The  night  darkened.  Strange  rustlings,  murmurs 
and  the  calls  of  hidden  creatures  quickened  in  the 
swamp.  The  child  was  suddenly  overcome  by  a  great 
flutter  of  dread.  All  her  senses  rose  in  panic.  Every 
swaying  vine,  every  bending  branch  reached  arms  for 
her. 

"  I  suttinly  does  wish  I'd  let  Sis  Suky  buy  dat  life 
insu'ance,"  she  sighed  despairingly. 


42  Melindy 

But  she  had  the  reassuring  knowledge  that  soon  the 
drive  would  be  thick  with  carriages.  She  had  only  to 
brave  the  loneliness  a  little  longer. 

So  she  sang  to  keep  up  her  courage, 

"Oh!    Tek  yo'  time,  Miss  Lucy, 
Miss  Lucy,  Lucy  Long. 
Oh!    Tek  yo*  time,  Miss  Lucy. 
Tek  —  yo' — time  —  Miss  Lucy  Long. 
Ef  she  prove  a  scoldin'  wife, 
As  sho'  as  she  is  born, 
I'll  tek  her  down  teh  Georgy, 
An'  trade  her  off  fo'  corn! 
So'— tek  yo'  time,  Miss  Lucy,  etc." 

"  Sh ! "  said  Melindy  to  herself,  for  from  across 
the  narrow  stream  back  of  the  railroad  track  on  the 
other  shore  came  a  faint  recognizing  whinny. 

Melindy  leaped  from  the  buggy  like  a  flame. 

Her  twinkling  feet  scarcely  touched  the  shell-road, 
—  away  she  sped  like  the  wind,  down  to  the  rickety 
wooden  bridge,  and  like  the  wind  across  it.  Lightly 
she  ran  in  a  whirl  of  excitement  to  the  spot  opposite 
the  buggy  on  the  other  shore. 

"Where  are  you  gwine,  Billy  Boy,  Billy  Boy? 
Where  are  you  gwine,  charming  Billy?" 

she  sang. 

Again  the  faint,  distant  whinny. 

Melindy  followed  it  into  the  darkened  wood.  Here 
the  ground  was  firm  and  solid. 

A  sunken,  trail-like  path  wound  confusingly  among 
the  trees. 


The  Bright  Face  of  Danger          43 

In  an  open  space,  vaguely  discernible  in  the  early 
moonlight,  stood  three  rough  men  and  Judge. 

All  four  were  pawing  the  ground  nervously. 

"Howdy!"  said  Melindy. 

The  men  turned  as  on  pivots. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  they  exclaimed. 

Melindy's  sharp  wits  were  thinking  fast.  The  dra 
matic  was  the  breath  of  life  to  her. 

"  Pse  one  o'  de  li'l  gals  dat  dances  on  horseback 
at  Renyon's  Circus  at  de  Wes'  End,"  she  said,  "  an' 
I'se  done  runned  away.  Please  kin  I  stay  hyah  by 
you-all?  I'se  awful  'fraid  ob  de  dark." 

The  men  looked  at  her  dubiously.  She  seemed  a 
mite  in  the  big  darkness.  One  of  them  swore,  one  gig- 
gled. 

"  You  say  you  know  horses  ?  "  asked  the  third.  Me- 
lindy  nodded  proudly. 

"  Well,  go  to  that  noisy  brute  and  see  if  you  can 
keep  him  quiet." 

Melindy  stood  on  tiptoe  and  patted  Judge's  satin 
nose  with  her  satin  finger-tips.  He  gave  one  little 
murmur  of  delight  and  was  still. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  admired  the  horse- 
thieves  and  the  three  continued  their  interrupted  whis 
pered  conversation.  They  withdrew  still  further 
from  the  child. 

Silently  her  eager  fingers  untied  the  harness  and 
released  Judge  from  bondage.  Silently  her  lithe, 
light  body  climbed  a  little  tree  and  dropped  upon  his 
back. 


44  Melindy 

Then  vigorously  she  kicked  him,  holding  by  the 
mane. 

"  Home,  Jedge,  home !  On,  Jedge,  home  !  Home ! 
Go !  Go !  "  she  screamed. 

The  sensitive  beast  plunged  forward.  A  shot  went 
wild  in  the  dark.  The  fastest  black  beauty  in  New 
Orleans  crashed  out  of  the  woods,  and  down  the  track, 
over  the  bridge  and  up  to  a  stately  old  barouche,  the 
astonished  occupants  of  which  cried  out  at  the  sight 
of  the  lunging  beast  and  the  mad  little  daughter  of 
the  jockey. 

A  chastened  Rastus  brought  Melindy  home  that 
night  to  the  distressed  and  frightened  friends  in  the 
Big  White  House. 

All  the  children  had  "  waited  up  "  to  see  her. 
Melindy  was  not  chastened.     She  swelled  with  pride 
as  she  related  to  the  amazed  household  the  thrilling 
story  of  her  heroic  conduct.     She  omitted  no  exciting 
detail. 

"  An'  dat  was  jess  li'l  me  did  dat,"  she  would  cry 
vaingloriously  at  intervals  in  the  telling.  "  Ain't  I 
brave,  Miss  Carrie  ?  " 

Miss  Carrie  laughed  and  sighed. 
"  Eulalia  dear,"  she  said,  "  next  time  be  sure  and 
tell  immediately  if  Melindy  goes  away.     Don't  wait 
until  we  ask. 

"  I  have  to  set  guards,"  she  said  plaintively  to 
Marse  George.  "  You  see,  in  spite  of  her  pluck,  of 
her  real  heroism  in  danger,  she  hasn't  the  slightest 
true  conscience  in  the  matter, —  not  the  faintest  sense 


The  Bright  Face  of  Danger          45 

of  having  done  wrong  in  the  first  place  by  going 
against  orders.  It  is  a  puzzle,"  she  added  under  her 
breath,  "  but  I  do  not  think  negroes  have  any  real 
moral  recognitions." 

But, — "  Missy  Eulalia,  honey,"  Melindy  was  say 
ing  affectionately,  "  you  is  a  real,  good,  true,  honest 
li'l  gal,  you  is,  not  to  bear  tales  and  tattles  on  Me 
lindy."  " 


CHAPTER  V 

SIGNS,  OMENS  AND  PREDICTIONS 

MELINDY'S  "  Miss  Carrie  "  had  this  pretty  custom. 
She  saved  in  a  silver  box  her  long  fair  "  combings," 
those  shining  strands  of  hair  that  broke  off  in  comb 
or  brush ;  and  at  the  birds'  nesting  time  she  went  about 
the  garden  placing  them  here  and  there  on  trees  and 
bushes  to  be  used  as  home-building  material.  Often 
she  saw  them  again  woven  into  the  mocking  birds' 
houses,  once  she  found  them  glittering  through  the 
long,  lovely  pocket  of  the  oriole,  and  on  one  occasion, 
happier  than  all  the  others,  she  thought  she  saw  a 
golden  thimble  deep  in  the  honeysuckle  vine  and  dis 
covered  it  to  be  a  tiny  nest  of  the  humming  birds,  her 
gift  throughout.  The  humming  birds  looked  more 
than  ever  like  jewels  in  the  appropriate  golden  setting. 

Melindy  stood  beside  her  mistress  shaking  her  head 
in  silent  disapproval. 

In  most  circumstances  her  Miss  Carrie  was  infalli 
ble,  but  now  she  "  sho'ly  was  mighty  reckless." 

Miss  Carrie  turned  from  the  honeysuckle  to  meet 
the  troubled  gaze  of  the  child.  Melindy 's  bright  eyes 
were  of  a  softness  so  velvety  and  deep  that  it  seemed 
as  if  one  might  stroke  them  with  impunity  and  pleas 
ure.  When  her  usual  twinkling  laughter  curved  their 

46 


Signs,  Omens  and  Predictions         47 

corners  they  were  alluring ;  now  as  the  long  upraised 
lashes  revealed  troubled  tragic  depths,  Miss  Carrie 
paused  to  wonder  at  their  sweet  solemnity. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Melindy?  " 

"  Why,  Miss  Carrie,  dear,  doan*  you  know  you'll 
hab  de  headache  all  yo'  blessed  life  long  ef  you  gib 
yo*  hair  to  de  birds  teh  lib  wif  ?  Yas'm,  yas  ma'm, 
Miss  Carrie.  I  jess  knows  whar  I'm  a-tellin'  you. 
You  better  mind  out.  I  knowed  a  lady  whar  gave  her 
hair  to  de  birds  to  make  nestes  and  her  haid  it  ached 
an'  ached  worse  an'  worse,  an'  whole  lots  of  her  hair 
done  fell  out  and  she  had  teh  buy  new  hair  an'  fasten 
it  on  her  haid,  Miss  Carrie.  An'  dem  ole  birds,  ebery 
time  she  come  out  unner  de  trees  dey  jess  laughed  fit 
ter  kill,  Miss  Carrie. 

"  You  better  bleeve  what  I'm  a-tellin',  'cause  I  done 
seen  de  boughten  hair  a-hangin'  on  a  chair  I " 

Miss  Carrie  knew  the  futility  of  arguing  down  su 
perstition  with  most  negroes.  The  deep-rooted  mys 
ticism  inherited  from  generations  of  fetish-worshiping 
ancestors  was  not  easily  to  be  removed  by  logic.  But 
Melindy  always  seemed  to  her  saner,  more  intelligent, 
more  highly  developed  than  others.  Therefore  she 
expostulated. 

"  Now,  Melindy,  child,"  she  said  reprovingly, 
"  stop  and  think  what  you  are  saying.  How  can  hair 
that  is  already  out  of  my  head  and  built  into  a  birds' 
nest  put  pain  inside  my  head?  Isn't  it  silly  to  think 
that?  " 

Melindy  smiled,  but  dubiously. 


48  Melindy 

"  Well'm,"  she  said,  "  I  doan'  know  how  it  kin  do 
it.  But  I  knows  it  do  do  it,  Miss  Carrie.  Else  how- 
come  dat-ar  lady's  head  done  ache  an'  her  hair  done 
fell  out?  " 

"  Not  because  of  the  birds,  I  am  sure." 

"  Yas'm.  You  knows.  I  guess  dat's  so,"  said  the 
acquiescent  one,  and  dropped  the  subject. 

Not  so  Miss  Carrie.  Encouraged  by  her  apparent 
victory  she  continued,  "  You  must  not  be  supersti 
tious,  Melindy.  It's  very  foolish  and  ignorant  and 
only  people  who  have  never  been  to  school  and  won 
medals  for  proficiency,  as  you  have,  should  be  super 
stitious." 

"  Is  I  superstitious  ?  "  asked  Melindy  in  awed  tones, 
overwhelmed  by  the  big  word  but  reveling  in  it, 
"What's  supstintious,  Miss  Carrie?" 

Her  mistress  recognized  the  difficulties  before  her 
and  sat  down  upon  a  garden  bench  to  do  the  subject 
justice.  She  took  her  charge  very  seriously,  consid 
ered  these  kindly,  childish  people  more  earnestly  than 
did  most  of  her  neighbors,  realizing  that  a  race  in  its 
childhood  is  as  important  a  ward  to  the  adult  races 
of  the  world  as  is  a  child  to  its  adult  guardians.  It 
was  in  something  of  a  missionary  spirit  that  she 
planted  these  seeds  in  Melindy. 

The  child  sat  at  her  feet  on  the  grass.  She  forgot 
to  snap  with  her  fingers  the  lapful  of  explosive  seed- 
pods  she  had  gathered  from  the  love-pop  vine  for  the 
purpose,  as  she  looked  at  Miss  Carrie  adoringly,  ad 
miring  the  sheen  of  her  hair,  the  fairness  of  her  neck, 


Signs,  Omens  and  Predictions         49 

her  tall  lithe  slenderness,  the  white  softness  of  her 
summery  gown. 

But  soon  all  other  thoughts  were  lost  in  a  great  as 
tonishment.  What  did  she  hear ! 

Miss  Carrie  said  it  was  not  true  that  walking  under 
a  ladder  brought  misfortune.  It  was  not  true  that 
counting  the  buttons  of  a  new  frock  made  them  drop 
off  easily.  It  was  not  true  that  the  bite  of  a  negro 
with  bluish  gums  was  fatal.  It  was  not  dangerous  to 
get  a  first  sight  of  the  new  moon  reflected  in  water. 
One's  name  could  safely  be  spoken  when  turkey  buz 
zards  were  flying  low.  The  sudden  little  shiver  that 
ran  up  your  spine  for  no  tangible  cause, — "  like  as  if 
ants  wuz  a-runnin'  up  yo*  back," —  that  did  not  imply 
that  someone  was  walking  over  the  site  of  your  future 
grave.  Could  Miss  Carrie  mean  that  black  cats  fol 
lowing  one  did  not  predict  good  luck,  or  that  spiders 
could  be  killed  with  impunity? 

Here  were  heresies  beyond  belief. 

But  her  mistress,  hitherto  infallible,  distinctly  dis 
avowed  the  standing  of  these  and  other  accredited  por 
tents.  She  said  that  credence  in  them  belonged  only 
to  the  ignorant,  not  to  prize  pupils  like  Melindy. 

A  new  world  seemed  to  open  before  the  child,  a 
world  free  from  fear  and  ominous  accident.  The 
prospect  of  becoming  superior  to  "  ignorant  niggers  " 
was  enchanting.  The  dimples  flashed.  And  yet  — 
and  yet  — 

Melindy  could  not  quite  believe  Miss  Carrie's  decree 
of  iconoclasm.  But  neither  could  she  quite  doubt  her 


50  Melindy 

beloved  guide,  until  now  proved  right  in  every  point 
of  knowledge  or  opinion. 

On  the  surface,  of  course,  she  smiled  the  compli 
ance  that,  with  her,  meant  simply  the  amiable  desire 
to  comply  without  any  special  activity  in  that  direc 
tion. 

Miss  Carrie  was  content.  But  when  Her  trium 
phant  mistress  had  gone  into  the  house  with  garden 
shears  and  flowering  sprays  of  honeysuckle,  the  com 
pliant  Melindy  meditatively  snapped  her  love-pop 
balls,  shaking  her  head  a  little  more  doubtfully  after 
each  fusillade  of  seeds. 

She  was  trying  not  to  watch  the  direction  of  the 
ejected  seeds  to  see  where  her  fate  lay.  And  as  she 
popped  the  pods,  the  exercise  of  the  physical  habit 
made  the  accompanying  mental  habit  more  difficult  to 
overcome. 

Melindy  wondered. 

As  she  stood  still  in  her  perplexity,  there  came  upon 
the  air  a  shrill,  familiar,  trumpet  sound. 

"Oh!"  cried  Melindy  aloud,  "Dare's  de  bottle- 
man.  Come,  chilluns,  come !  " 

Just  as  the  exploded  seed-pods  had  shot  forth  seeds, 
so  the  white  house  shot  forth  children  at  the  sound. 

Eulalia  came  whirling  out  upon  the  terrace ;  down 
a  porch  pillar  slid  Eustace ;  out  of  a  window  dropped 
Peter.  The  baby  and  his  "black  Mammy"  ap 
peared  in  the  door. 

"Where  is  he?  Where?  Has  he  come  to  our 
house  yet?  Run,  ask  him  to  wait,  Melinda,  please! 


Signs,  Omens  and  Predictions         51 

Oh !  Hurry  up,  Peter ! "  called  the  voices  all  at 
once. 

The  bottle-man  blew  his  bugle  again  and  all  the 
houses  in  the  neighborhood  disgorged  eager  children 
laden  with  bottles, —  from  great,  aristocratic  green 
bottles  with  golden  capes  and  collars  and  black 
French  bottles  with  piratical  red  caps  and  vaselike 
Italian  bottles  riding  in  straw  balloons,  to  the  very 
plebeian  white  bottles  and  brown  bottles  marked 
Lemon  Soda  and  Pop. 

The  bottle-man,  a  shining  mahogany  old  gentleman, 
with  cottony  beard  and  hair  around  a  tonsured  poll, 
pushed  forward  a  large  three-wheeled  barrow,  full  of 
bottles. 

From  two  lateral  poles  there  stretched  across  this 
chariot  a  leather  riband  hung  with  bells.  These  and 
the  genial  bottle-man's  bugle  made  music  wherever  he 
went. 

But  he  was  no  Pied  Piper, —  it  was  not  the  charm 
of  the  music  that  brought  the  eager  children  to  his 
shrine. 

When  they  had  gathered  close,  the  bottle-man  slid 
out  a  drawer  from  under  his  barrow.  A  wonderful, 
maddening,  tempting  drawer  it  was,  divided  into  small 
squares,  and  each  square  filled  with  delight.  Marbles, 
tops,  the  tiniest  of  china  dolls,  paper  dollies,  enticing 
slips  of  decalcomania  pictures  that  could  be  trans 
ferred  to  the  paper  and  fly-leaves  of  books  and  even 
—  by  the  unregenerate  —  to  the  backs  of  hands  and 
to  shirt  bosoms.  There  was  jewelry,  so  called,  very 


52  Melindy 

glittering.  There  were  wee  books  for  memoranda, 
brilliantly  striped  pencils,  boxes  of  colored  crayons, 
and  uproariously  gorgeous  painted  candy  that  every 
one's  cruel  family  specifically  forbade,  decried  and 
tabooed. 

Some  of  these  treasures,  one  bottle  could  buy ;  some 
took  as  many  as  five ;  in  a  smaller  under-drawer  there 
were  a  few  very  glorious  desiderata  costing  even  ten. 
Different  bottles  had  varied  purchasing  power.  Nan 
ny's  three  pickle- jars  could  secure  for  her  only  two 
marbles  or  one  ring,  while  Eustace  with  a  couple  of 
Burgundy  carriers  was  a  captain  of  finance. 

"  Hyah's  some  blue  glass,"  said  the  bottle-man, 
"  hyah's  some  cl'ar  blue  glass  wif  a  purkle  line. 
Ev'body  knows,  chilluns,  dat  blue  glass  wif  a  purkle 
line  is  a  sho'  'nough  cure  an'  charm. 

"Has  you  got  de  rheumatiz? 
Blue  glass  make  you  glad  you  is. 
Has  you  got  malaria  slow? 
Blue  glass  teach  it  how  to  go. 
Has  you  got  a  ache  or  pain? 
Blue  glass  send  it  home  again. 
Has  you  lost  yo*  money,  honey? 
Has  you  lost  yo*  money,  honey? 
Look  th'ough  blue  glass  when  it's  sunny, 
Ef  it's  got  a  purkle  line, 
Blue  glass  fix  you  rich  an'  fine ! 

"  Only  three  quart  bottles,  Missy  'Lalia !  " 

"  I'm  too  big  to  believe  in  charms  and  magic,  Uncle 
Ben ;  but  I'd  like  some  paper  dollies,  please,"  said  Eu- 
lalia. 


Signs,  Omens  and  Predictions         53 

"  Too  big  teh  b'leeve  in  charms ;  —  too  —  big !  " 
snorted  the  bottle-man,  "  Huh !  Melindy's  bigger'n 
you  is,"  he  went  on,  "  an'  I  guess  she  knows  'nough 
not  teh  to  be  so  high-steppin'.  Hyah  you  is, —  blue 
glass,  Melindy." 

"Oh!  Uncle  Ben,"  Melindy  said,  "Miss  Carrie 
jess  'spises  charms.  She  jess  done  tole  me  dat  only 
ign'ant  niggers  believes  in  'em." 

Uncle  Ben  scratched  his  head.  He  was  too  politic 
an  old  fellow  to  preach  counter  to  the  authorities ;  yet 
he  was  seriously  alarmed  at  Miss  Carrie's  edict,  seri 
ously  believed  her  message  to  be  dangerous. 

"  Well  —  sah !  "  said  he,  "  Maybe  white  folks  kin 
let  go  ob  magic,  but  niggers  is  got  ter  pertect  their- 
selves.  Lissen  hyah.  I'll  tell  you  what  dis  berry 
same  piece  ob  blue  glass  did  f  o'  me. 

"  I  had  a  big  basket  ob  washin' —  clothes  done  up 
by  ma  wife  —  to  take  home  to  her  missus.  An'  'twas 
too  fur  to  walk  an'  carry  dem.  I'd  been  a  trompin' 
all  de  day.  An'  I  didn't  hab  but  a  nickel,  an'  I  didn't 
think  de  conductor  on  de  street  car  would  let  me  ride 
wif  ma  big  basket.  So  I  jess  slipped  a  li'l  bit  ob  dis 
hyah  blue  glass  in  ma  pocket  fo'  a  caution. 

"So. 

"  Well,  sah,  'long  came  de  man  an  axed  me  what  I 
think  dat-ar  vehicle  is  —  a  express  train  ? 

"  An  I  puts  ma  hand  on  de  blue  glass  in  ma  pocket 
an*  says,  right  spry,  *  No,  sah !  'cause,  ef  'twas,  maybe 
you'd  express  yo'self  a  li'l  bit  mo'  politer.'  An' 
ev'rybody  laughed.  But  the  conductor  kep'  on  a- 


54»  Melindy 

badgerin'  me.  An'  I  kep'  on  a-answerin'  him,  but  po 
lite  and  quiet  and  good  natured, —  an'  ma  hand  on  de 
blue  glass ! 

"  At  las'  he  los'  his  patience,=— 'count  ob  all  de 
white  folkses  laughin'  tvif  me  an*  at  him,  I  reckon. 
Anyway,  he  jess  plumb  insisted  I  should  git  right 
ofPn  de  car  wif  dat  big  bundle  o'  clothes.  An'  honey ! 
What  you  think?  Dat-ar  exact  spot  is  my  crossin', 
whar  I  intended  to  git  off  de  car  anyways.  An'  in  all 
de  'citement,  dat-ar  white  man  ain't  nebber  thought 
teh  take  ma  nickel  at  all  1 

"  Sholy  blue  glass  is  a  charm ! 

"  Well,  want  it,  Melindy?  All  right.  Three  bot 
tles  fo'  a  big  piece.  So  long!  Dis  hyah  standin' 
an'  makin'  ma  mouth  work  wif  words  an'  talk  will 
suttinly  keep  it  empty  ob  meat  an'  potatoes.  'By, 
chilluns!" 

"  Keep  a-steppin',"  Melindy  returned  courteously. 

She  entered  the  kitchen,  admiring  the  clean, 
sapphire  luster  of  her  reprehensible  purchase. 

In  an  instant  her  faith  in  the  whole  panoply  of 
magic  was  restored. 

For,  "  Shh !  M'lindy,"  warned  Suky,  "  walk  gentle. 
Miss  Carrie's  got  a  headache ! " 

"  Dem  villain  birds ! "  exclaimed  Melindy.  "  I 
'clar  teh  goodness,"  she  added  in  exasperation,  "  white 
folks  is  too  plumb  know-it-all-ish  f o'  any  use !  " 

"Isn't  dat  Miss  Carrie's  bell  a-ringin'?"  asked 
Suky. 

Melindy   ran    upstairs   to   answer   the    summons. 


I 


Signs,  Omens  and  Predictions         55 

Miss  Carrie  lay  on  a  couch  looking  pale  and  tearful. 

"  What  do  you  wish,  Melindy?  " 

"Didn't  you  ring,  Miss  Carrie,  honey?  We 
thought  we  done  heard  you  ring  yo'  bell.  Dat's  how- 
come  I  come  teh  come  up.  I'se  sorry  you  is  sick, 
Miss  Carrie."  Nobly  refraining  from  an  I-told-you- 
so  of  triumph,  Melindy  bided  her  time,  and  departed 
on  tiptoe. 

Poor  Miss  Carrie's  sudden  headache  had  a  deeper 
significance  than  appeared  even  to  Melindy. 

Among  other  beautiful  old-world  keepsakes  in  a 
charming  little  legacy  bequeathed  to  her  by  a  beloved 
uncle,  was  a  quaint  brooch  of  diamonds  and  garnets, 
—  two  hearts,  a  white  one  and  a  red,  crowned  with 
a  coronet  of  laurel  leaves.  This  she  was  to  possess 
until  the  twenty-first  birthday  of  Cousin  Nathalie, 
the  testator's  young  daughter,  whose  mother  had  re 
ceived  it  from  him  when  she  turned  twenty-one. 

As  Nathalie  was  expected  home  to  them  in  a  very 
few  weeks  to  celebrate  her  graduation  from  a  north 
ern  college  and  her  turning  into  the  twenties,  Miss 
Carrie  had,  very  tenderly  and  happily,  been  cleansing 
the  brooch  that  morning.  Something  had  called  her 
from  the  task,  and  she  had  temporarily  forgotten  it. 
Incomprehensibly  she  had  forgotten  it,  for  she  was  a 
careful  person. 

Now  she  could  not  find  the  ornament ! 

Plumbers  had  been  in  the  house ;  the  gas-man  had 
come  to  test  the  pipes, —  but  she  could  not  bring  her 
self  to  view  them  with  suspicion.  Her  own  servants 


56  Melindy 

were  above  the  possibility  of  it.  Still, —  the  room 
had  been  wildly  upturned.  There  was  no  sign  of 
Cousin  Nathalie's  heirloom. 

Poor  Miss  Carrie  took  to  her  couch,  overcome  by  a 
nervous  headache  and  the  effort  to  refrain  from 
tears. 

Melindy  went  soberly  down  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Now's  de  time  teh  sing  some  ob  yo'  mournful 
music,  Sis,"  she  said,  "  'cause  Miss  Carrie's  done  been 
lettin'  de  birds  hab  her  hair  and  dis  hyah  headache's 
done  come  teh  stay.  Hesh  up,  you  Mr.  Mockin' 
Bird,  shet-up  yo'  squawkin' !  Puttin'  yo'  haid  round 
dis  side  an'  dat  side  like-a  you  was  a  lady.  You  done 
done  'nough  harm  'round  hyah.  Shet  up  or  I'll  shet 
you  up.  Doan'  you  come  sin  gin'  at  me.  I  don't 
care  how  pretty  you  sings.  'Cause  all  you  is  say  in'  is, 
6  We  fixed  'er,  we  fixed  'er ! '  " 

Melindy  leaned  forward  to  shake  her  brown  fists 
belligerently,  and  the  bright  blue  glass  fell  out  of  the 
apron  pocket. 

"  Glory !  glory !  "  she  shouted.  "  Come  'long  an' 
rejoice !  I  shorely  will  fix  you  now !  " 

She  darted  first  to  the  accessible  humming  bird's 
nest  in  the  honeysuckle  vine  and  flashed  the  blue  charm 
upon  it. 

"  Dar  now,  you'se  done  for,  Mr.  Li'l  Bit  ob 
Nothin'!" 

She  climbed  every  climbable  tree,  looking  for  nests, 
and  focused  that  blue  glass  upon  each  one  that  she 
found  and  upon  every  bird  that  swung  on  a  branch, 


Signs,  Omens  and  Predictions         57 

hopped  on  the  lawn,  or  flew  across  the  sky.  She 
divided  the  hedge  and  parted  the  long  grasses  for  such 
foolhardy  feathered  folk  as  built  close  to  the  earth. 
Five  times  she  rounded  the  high  trees  beyond  her 
power  to  climb.  Under  the  oriole's  pendant  home  she 
stood  and  sang, — 

Go  'way,  go  'way,  you  li'l  red  witch, 
Melindy  doan'  want  none  ob  sich. 

But  the  big,  saucy,  gay  mocking  bird  had  built  so 
high  in  the  magnolia  tree  that  Melindy  feared  her 
glass's  power  would  not  reach  him. 

Jacques,  the  gardener,  came  by  with  his  ladder. 

"  Uncle  Jacques,"  wheedled  Melindy,  "  isn't  I  a 
good  li'l  gal  an'  doan'  nebber  tech  no  fruits  or  berries 
widout  axin'  fo'  'em,  since  dat  time  we-all  got  de 
awful  pains  frum  eatin'  de  Japan  plums  we  stole?  " 
—  she  dimpled  roguishly  — "  Oh !  you  does  lub  me, 
Uncle  Jacky,  I  knows  you  does,  'cause  you  an'  me, 
we's  so  pleasant.  An'  I  wouldn't  pull  hard  at  de  rose 
bushes  ner  step  on  de  ground-pinks  fer  nothing  I 
wouldn't." 

Old  Jacques  laughed. 

"  Well,  li'l  beggar  an'  cajoler,  what  d'ye  want  ob 
ole  Jacky  now?  " 

Melindy  told  to  his  perfect  sympathy  the  tale  of 
their  mistress'  reckless  folly  and  its  punishment. 

"  So  climb  up  teh  dat  rapscallion  mocking  bird's 
nest,  please,  sah,  an'  flash  dis  blue  glass  on  it  fo'  me," 
urged  Melindy. 


58  Melindy 

Jacques  loved  Miss  Carrie  dearly  and  Melindy  too ; 
he  had  full  faith  in  the  ascribed  source  of  the  evil 
headaches  and  in  the  possibility  of  their  cure  by  ex 
orcism.  Right  willingly  he  mounted  the  tall  ladder 
to  the  lowest  branches  of  the  great  tree  and  thence 
climbed  to  giddy  heights,  until  he  reached  Sir  Saucy's 
nest. 

«Fo'  de  land's  sake!"  he  called  out.  "Fo'  de 
land's  sake!  Why!  What!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!" 

"What  is  it?  What  is  it?  "  cried  Melindy,  dan 
cing  up  and  down,  beyond  control  with  curiosity. 

Slowly  the  careful  Jacques  descended  to  her,  his 
mouth  wide  open  in  astonishment.  Speechless  he 
advanced,  the  blue  glass  charm  and  Miss  Nathalie's 
heart-shaped  brooch  in  one  extended  palm. 

"The  wicked  li'l  thief!"  cried'  the  child.  She 
recognized  the  pin,  which  Miss  Carrie  always  wore 
with  a  little  ceremony  on  the  birthday  of  the  aunt 
whose  lover's  gift  it  had  been. 

Melindy  darted  wildly  up  the  stairs,  forgetting  her 
mistress*  headache  in  her  excitement  and  less  delicate 
of  it  now  that  the  black  magic  that  had  caused  it 
was  well  conquered. 

"  Looky  hyah,  Miss  Carrie !     Looky  hyah ! " 

Miss  Carrie  sprang  to  her  feet  in  joy. 

"Melindy,  my  dear!  Oh!  Thank  you!  Thank 
you !  Where  did  you  find  it?  " 

Melindy  told  her,  not  sparing  in  the  slightest  the 
feelings  or  reputation  of  the  mocking  bird.  She  con 
fessed, —  nay,  boasted  —  of  the  blue  glass  too,  and 


Signs,  Omens  and  Predictions         59 

assured  Miss  Carrie  grandly  that  she  was  entirely 
wrong  to  disregard  omens. 

"  Sho'ly,  Miss  Carrie,  honey,"  she  vaunted,  "  I'd 
rather  be  sup'stitious  an'  well  than  so-all-powerful 
educated  an'  hab  headaches." 

Miss  Carrie  laughed  through  happy  tears. 

"  I  remember  now,"  she  said,  "  I  dropped  the 
brooch  into  the  silver  hair-box  instead  of  the  jewel 
casket  on  the  same  dressing-table.  Why,  I  must  have 
literally  thrown  it  out  from  the  gable  window  into  the 
branches  of  the  magnolia !  " 

"  Well'm,  I  got  it  erway  from  dat-ar  pesky  bird. 
Me  an'  Jacky." 

"  Dear  child,  you  did.  There  is  some  magic  worth 
belief,  Melindy.  Loving  service  is  truly  strong  white 
magic." 

Melindy  went  singing  down  the  stairs,  jubilant, 
with  a  pretty  little  new  gold  breastpin  on  her  blue 
gingham  apron, — "  wif  a  real  pearl  into  it," —  and 
a  crisp  five-dollar  bill  for  Jacques. 

Half-way  down,  she  stopped  and  called  to  Miss 
Carrie,  who  smiled  upon  her  from  the  landing. 

"  Miss  Carrie,  honey,  darlin9,99  she  pled,  "  you 
ain't  a  gwine-a  put  no  mo'  hairs  out  fo'  de  birdses, 
is  you  ?  " 

"  Well,—  not  this  spring,  Melindy." 

"  Miss  Carrie,  honey,  darlin9,  darlin',  doan'  you 
b'lieve  yet  dat  de  birds  done  did  de  harm  ?  " 

"No,  Melindy,  child;  not  yet." 

"  Well,"    commented    Melindy    to    herself, —  too 


60  Melin3y 

proud  of  her  own  powers,  too  pleased  with  Miss 
Carrie's  present  safety  to  grieve  very  much  for  next 
year's  dangers  — "  well,  white  folks  is  got  a  good 
heart,  but  dey's  got  a  mighty  weak  mind." 


CHAPTER  VI 

CUPID  IN  CALICO 

THE  day  that  Miss  Nathalie  was  to  arrive  dawned 
glowingly,  and  with  it  the  household  glowed  in  heart 
and  in  appearance. 

Soft  masses  of  Miss  Nathalie's  favorite  crepe 
myrtle  blooms  filled  baskets  and  bowls  on  porches,  in 
salons,  chambers  and  halls.  Prudentia,  Miss  Natha 
lie's  favorite  mare,  was  combed  and  clipped  and 
decked  with  ribbons.  The  boys  wore  the  white  and 
blue  midshipmite  suits  that  Miss  Nathalie  loved;  the 
baby's  hair  was  brushed  into  "  feathers,"  as  Miss 
Nathalie  called  the  floating,  fairy-like  down;  Eu- 
lalia's  chubby  elbows  and  shoulders  were  bare,  show 
ing  the  dimples  that  Cousin  Nathalie  always  measured 
with  her  little  finger  tip,  and  Suky  was  busy  making 
"  de  goodies  dat  our  Miss  Nathalie's  done  lubbed  ever 
sence  she  come  hyah  a  teeny  weeny  li'l  baby,  always 
a-lookin'  ober  her  shoulder  teh  see  ef  she  warn't  behV 
called  back  teh  Hebben,  po'  lamb ! " 

For  the  orphan  cousin  was  indeed  the  beloved 
daughter  of  the  house. 

Melindy,  in  her  starched  guinea-blue  calico  frock 
and  much  fluted  white  apron,  came  running  to  Miss 
Carrie. 

61 


62  Melindy 

"  Deary  me ! "  she  cried  excitedly,  "  dat-ar  no- 
'count  milkman  ain't  brung  Miss  Nathalie's  butter 
milk  fer  her  lunch.  Suky  done  lef  a  note  out  fo' 
him  dis  mo'nin'  teh  leave  de  buttermilk  an'  he  ain't  lef ' 
nothin'  but  dis-hyah  cyard." 

She  handed  to  her  mistress  a  small  placard  which 
read: 

Know 
Butter 
Milk 
Now 
Bring  U  Sum  on  2th  Tripp. 

"  Well,  never  mind,  Melindy.  He  hadn't  any  this 
morning.  You  see,  he  says  he'll  bring  some  on  his 
second  trip." 

"  Oh,  he  will,  will  he?  How  Miss  Nat'lie  gwine-a 
hab  her  buttermilk  fo'  her  lunch  den?  Miss  Nat'lie 
alluz  has  buttermilk  an'  beaten  biscuit  fo'  her  lunch 
when  she  comes  home  from  college.  An'  I  isn't 
gwine-a  set  hyah  an'  see  no  no-'count  nigger  milk 
man  wif  li'l  ole  grizzled  whiskers  takin'  'vantage  ob 
ma  Miss  Nat'lie,  Miss  Carrie. 

"  Miss  Carrie,  honey,  lemme  hab  a  pail  an'  take  de 
cyar  an'  go  up  teh  Nappyoleon  Avenoo  teh  de  li'l 
dairy  place  an'  git  some  buttermilk.  Den  Miss  Nat'- 
lie'll  say,  «  Oh !  Hyah's  ma  buttermilk ! '  An'  you'll 
say,  *  Melindy  done  got  it  f o'  you ' ;  an'  she'll  say, 
'  Ain't  dat  jess  smart  ob  Melindy ! '  Please'm,  Miss 
Carrie." 


Cupid  in  Calico  63 

As  Miss  Carrie's  laugh  gave  consent,  Melindy 
darted  back  for  her  pail  and  started  down  the  shady 
brick  sidewalk  toward  the  car  tracks. 

On  the  next  block  she  stopped  before  a  modest 
gray  cottage  set  in  an  exquisite  garden  of  pale-toned 
blossoms  and  the  gentle  green  of  ferns. 

A  frail,  small  old  gentleman  with  a  military  tread 
was  marching  briskly  along  the  path.  His  face  was 
sternly  lined  but  very  fine  and  sensitive  and  his  skin 
was  as  pure  and  delicate  as  his  morning-glories. 

"  Good  morning,  Gin'al,"  said  Melindy  politely. 

The  General  flashed  her  a  bayonet  of  a  glance  from 
beneath  a  forbidding  fortress  of  beetling  brows  and 
proceeded  on  his  walk  in  silence. 

"  Good  mo'ning,  Gin'al  Hav'land,  sah,"  drawled 
Melindy  with  great  sweetness. 

"What  do  you  want?"  shot  forth  the  General, 
coming  to  a  halt. 

"  I  doan'  want  nothin',  sah,"  said  Melindy  in  her 
light,  wheedling,  ingratiating  minor  tones,  "  I  doan' 
want  nothin',  sah.  I'se  &-givin'  you  good-mo'nin'." 

The  General  smiled  that  quick,  rare,  beautiful 
transformation  by  which  an  infrequent  smile  glorifies 
the  faces  of  the  somber. 

Melindy  had  the  key  to  the  citadel  of  his  severity. 

"  Good  morning,  Imp,"  said  the  General.  "  Now 
be  off  with  you  I " 

But,  "  Yo'  sweet  peas  is  much  han'somer  den  ourn," 
pursued  Melindy.  "  You  suttinly  has  a  gifted  han* 
at  flowers,  Gin'al." 


64  Melindy 

The  flattered  General,  touched  upon  his  weakest 
vanity,  looked  about  him  complacently. 

"  I  done  tole  Miss  Carrie  dis  very  mo'ning  dat 
yourn  was  better  den  our  sweet  peas;  but  she  say 
dey  warn't  at  all.  Wush  she'd  jess  come  hyah  an' 
see  yourn,"  sighed  Melindy. 

The  General  flushed  and  paled.  Then,  "When 
you  come  by  here  on  your  way  back  from  where 
you're  going,  Imp,  stop  and  I'll  send  your  mistress 
some,"  he  said. 

"  Poor  Caroline,"  he  added  under  his  breath,  u  it 
was  no  fault  of  hers." 

"Thanky,  sah,  Gin'al!  Thanky,  sah!"  smiled 
Melindy.  And  little  the  General  knew  how  great  was 
her  secret  triumph. 

For  on  the  preceding  evening,  Miss  Carrie,  regard 
less  of  Melindy,  who  was  removing  the  flower  vases, 
had  read  aloud  to  Marse  George  this  extract  from 
Miss  Nathalie's  last  letter : 

"  Glorious  family,  I'm  coming  home  to  you.  It 
just  nearly  killed  me  that  George  couldn't  leave  his 
clients  to  bring  you  all  to  Commencement.  But  here 
we  all  are  now  together!  Please  don't  come  to  meet 
me,  but  be  all  at  home  and  have  all  my  pet  notions 
obeyed  for  me  when  I  come, —  crepe  myrtle,  middy 
suits,  Euly's  dimples,  blessed  old  Prudentia  decked 
for  the  fair,  baby  feathered,  you  two  holding  hands, 
Melindy  stiff  with  starch,  all  the  rest  of  the  darkies 


Cupid  in  Calico  65 

in  a  happy  row,  such  smells  from  the  kitchen!     Oh, 
joy !  Carolina  mea,  mother-cousin ! 

"  Ah,  me!  Everything  old-timey  but  the  General's 
flowers!  If  he  won't  send  them,  honey,  can't  you 
steal  some  flowers  from  his  garden?  It  seems  as  if 
I  must  have  the  General's  posy  when  I  come  home. 
Poor  old  darling !  " 

"  Hum ! "  chuckled  Melindy  as  she  entered  the  big 
home-gate  with  her  pail  of  buttermilk  and  her  posy 
of  sweet  peas,  "  Hum,  hyah's  yo'  flowers  when  you 
come  fo'  dem,  Miss  Nat'lie,  honey.  To  be  sho', 
Gin'al  Hav'land  didn'  know  you  was  a-comin'  home 
teh-day.  But, —  I  didn'  hab  teh  stole  dem,  neider." 

Melindy  did  not  know  the  story  of  the  alienation 
of  the  General.  But  she  did  know  that  on  other  sum 
mers  he  had  stood  with  the  family  to  greet  "  our 
lass,"  as  he  called  Miss  Nathalie,  when  she  came  home 
from  college,  and  that  one  of  her  glad  kisses  had 
always  been  for  him. 

Throughout  the  year  just  past,  Melindy  had  missed 
his  once-frequent  visists,  had  noticed  the  shadow  of 
regretful  perplexity  upon  Miss  Carrie's  face  when  his 
name  was  spoken,  and  had  wondered  at  his  crotchety 
unwillingness  to  be  civil  to  her, —  to  Melindy,  usually 
so  welcome  to  every  one. 

One  day,  Marse  George  had  come  home  and  an 
nounced  in  tones  half  sorry,  half  indignant,  "  Well, 
dear,  I  tried  to  call  upon  the  General  to-day,  and  he 


66  Melindy 

spoke  to  me  cordially  enough, —  over  the  gate,  but 
failed  to  ask  me  into  the  garden.  I've  done  all  I  can, 
I  suppose.  If  only  children  wouldn't  grow  up  so 
fast  these  things  would  not  happen." 

Melindy  often  wondered  how  the  fact  that  youth 
matured  with  years  had  antagonized  the  General,  but 
set  the  reason  down  in  her  mind  to  "  some  ob  de  white 
f  olkses  ructions  "  and  dismissed  it. 

Soon  after  Melindy's  return  with  the  milk  and 
flowers,  a  great  shout  went  up  from  the  two  boys 
perched  on  the  gate  posts  as  lookouts. 

Eulalia  cried,  "  Mother !    Father !    She's  coming !  " 

All  the  household  rushed  to  the  garden.  There 
were  Suky  with  wet  dough  on  her  round  brown  arms, 
Lewis  leading  Prudentia,  Mammy  carrying  Baby, 
Jacques  laden  with  crepe  myrtle  boughs,  the  house 
maids  grinning  with  delight  and  Melindy  dancing 
gleefully. 

The  master  and  mistress  stood  in  the  great  door 
way,  eyes  brimming  with  joy,  and  the  three  children 
rushed  out  upon  the  sidewalk,  watching  the  approach 
ing  carriage. 

As  the  two  bays  dashed  up  the  street,  smiling 
neighbors  called  and  waved  from  windows  and 
porches. 

It  was  a  true  triumphal  entry.  For  the  slim  girl 
who  stood  up  in  the  old  barouche  to  wave  in  response 
was  a  real  Queen  of  Love  to  her  friends. 

In  a  moment,  Nathalie  was  home. 

"  We  was  so  glad  teh  see  Miss  Nat'lie,"  Melindy 


Cupid  in  Calico  67 

said  afterward  to  her  friends,  the  Twinses,  "  dat  I 
dunno  how  we  'uns  ever  stood  ourselves  all  dis  time 
widout  'er.  It  suttinly  tasted  better'n  mint  lemonade 
to  see  Miss  Nat'lie  home  again.  An'  ev'ybody  kissed 
her  dat  warn't  shakin'  her  hand  and  ev'ybody  cried 
but  Miss  Nat'lie.  Ou'  Miss  Nat'lie  cayn't  cry;  her 
face  won't  work  dat-ar  way.  She  jess  laughed  and 
kep'  a-sayin',  *  Home !  Home ! '  an'  " —  here  Melindy 
paused  impressively, — "  you  see  me.  She  done  kissed 
me,  Twinses,  right  smack  on  ma  north  cheek." 

For  having  been  taught  in  school  that  to  one  facing 
the  sunrise,  north  would  be  on  the  left,  Melindy 
displayed  her  education  by  using  the  terms  inter 
changeably. 

By  noontime,  except  for  the  atmosphere  of  fresh 
happiness  and  the  children's  eager  curiosity  in  an 
ticipation  of  the  contents  of  Cousin  Nathalie's  trunk, 
the  household  had  quieted. 

"  This  is  the  only  hard  place  in  the  homecoming," 
Nathalie  was  saying,  as  she  and  Miss  Carrie  passed 
Melindy  holding  open  the  dining-room  door  for  them, 
"  to  go  to  luncheon  and  miss  my  General's  pale  posy 
on  my  plate.  Why  —  Caroline !  Did  he  —  did  he 
send  them?  " 

Miss  Carrie  with  unerring  instinct  turned  inquir 
ingly  to  the  proud  Melindy. 

"  Yas'm,"  said  that  small  adjuster  of  destinies, 
"  yas'm,  Miss  Nat'lie,  I  done  went  to  f otch  yo'  butter 
milk, — 'twas  me  done  fetched  you  dis  hyah  good 
buttermilk,  Miss  Nat'lie- — an'  de  Gin'al  he  done 


68  Melindy 

picked  dis-ar  bookay  an'  gi'n  it  teh  me  for  you-all 
on  ma  way  home." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  Is  it  possible,  George  ?  "  cried 
Nathalie.  "  Melindy,  you're  a  double  darling  and 
I'm  the  happiest  girl  in  New  Orleans.  I  shall  go  to 
see  my  General  this  evening.  Bless  his  dear  old 
heart!" 

Intermingling  with  the  praises  of  Suky's  wonderful 
luncheon  went  a  chant  of  delight  at  the  General's  ap 
parent  forgiveness  and  Melindy's  successful  embassy. 

That  small  person  perceived  that  there  was  some 
misconception  as  to  the  voluntariness  of  the  General's 
offering  and  as  to  the  person  for  whom  the  present 
was  intended.  But  "  I  always  says,"  thought  she, 
*'  when  folks  is  happy,  doan'  disturb  'em.  When  de 
milk  is  a-turnin'  teh  clabber,  let  it  clabber.  Cayn't 
nebber  git  sweet  agin  an'  stirrin'  will  only  spile  it." 

So,  deceived  and  happy,  Miss  Nathalie  finished  her 
luncheon  and  went  with  Miss  Carrie  for  a  "  chatter  " 
in  the  cool  shade  of  the  arbor. 

"  Cousin  Caroline,"  she  said,  "  I  suppose  you  and 
George  have  often  wondered  just  what  injured  the 
General's  love  for  me.  It  seemed  too  intimate  a  thing 
to  write  —  almost  too  much  other  folks'  secrets  to 
talk  about.  No,  dear !  Don't  say  I  need  not  tell  it. 
I've  decided  that  you  and  George  ought  to  know. 
Your  ignorance  is  grim  and  mysterious  and  not  nice 
and  folksy  at  all. 

"  Well,  this  is  the  Tale  of  the  Fair  Princess,  the 
Old  Knight  and  the  Two  Brothers. 


Cupid  in  Calico  69 

"  You  know  how  I've  spent  most  of  my  life  on 
the  General's  knee,  hearing  how  much  I  am  like  my 
beautiful  mother," —  Nathalie  paused  in  pensive 
reverence,  for  her  beautiful  mother  was  only  a  beauti 
ful  dream  to  her.  But  Miss  Carrie's  eyes  filled  with 
a  keener  memory,  for  the  lass  before  her  was  exactly 
like  another  lass  who  had  been  an  elder  sister  to  her 
childhood. 

"  And,  of  course,"  pursued  the  soft  Southern  voice 
with  its  cultured  unprovincial  accent,  "  of  course,  the 
General's  nephews,  like  sons  to  him,  have  just  been 
brothers  to  me." 

"  Except  Gerald?  "  teased  Miss  Carrie. 

"  I'm  coming  to  that.  I'm  perfectly  frank,  Caro 
line,"  opening  wide  the  honest  mouse-gray  eyes. 
"  Except,  as  we  got  older  Gerald  began  sweethearting. 
And  I  hadn't  any  sweethearts, —  then,"  roguishly, 
"  and  I  did  like  it.  And  sometimes  I  thought  even 
Robert, —  but  he  was  older  and  more  serious, —  so  it 
sort  of  developed  to  Gerald.  Those  things  just  hap 
pen,  those  young  things  do." 

Miss  Carrie  laughed  and  put  her  hand  affection 
ately  on  the  light  brown  coils  of  hair.  "  Wisdom 
they  teach  in  our  colleges,"  said  she. 

But  the  young  face  was  sober  now  with  a  gentle 
gravity. 

"  Now  comes  the  hard  part,"  continued  Nathalie, 
"  I've  truly  cried  a  heap  over  this  part, —  a  regular 
real  romance,"  she  smiled.  "  Yes'm,  many  a  night  I 
sighed  for  thy  bosom  and  envied  every  heroine 


70  Melindy 

in  the  French  plays  her  consoling  and  flattering 
confidante. 

"  Gerald  and  I,"  she  went  on  gravely,  "  just  out 
grew  each  other, —  or  I  thought  so.  He  did  read  me 
so  much  well-known  poetry  and  sang  me  so  many 
tenor  songs  and  was  so  very  fond  of  corners  and  got 
so  mad  when  I  couldn't  rave  over  the  comfortable 
commonplace  houses  he's  getting  so  rich  designing! 
He  is  such  a  dear  boy,  and  I  do  love  him,  but  the 
champagne  all  went  out  of  it.  I  just  got  older. 
Don't  laugh.  Twenty  is  ages  older  than  seven 
teen. 

"  I  truly  thought  Gerald  outgrew  me  too.  He  said 
I  shouldn't  study  sociology  and  that  unsophisticated 
women  were  sweeter.  And  he  was  intensely  attentive 
to  Agostine  Du  Fossat  all  one  season  and  he  knew  I 
knew  it  and  didn't  care.  So  I  thought  it  was  just 
over  with  Gerald,  and  I  could  love  him  brotherly,  same 
as  ever. 

"But,  here's  the  truth  of  it.  The  more  I  met 
other  men, —  yes,  I  did  meet  plenty  these  last  two 
years,  summer  resorts  and  all,  the  more  I  met  other 
men, —  I  hope  you'll  understand,"  the  sweet  voice 
deepened,  "  the  more  I  realized  that  I  had  loved 
Robert  all  my  life.  I  do,  Cousin  Caroline.  There's 
no  help  for  me.  I  just  do. 

"  He  had  been  such  a  quiet  boy  with  so  little 
glamour  and  no  parlor  tricks  like  Gerald,  and  the 
General  never  pushed  him  forward;  he  wasn't  hand 
some  and  graceful  and  showy.  I  suppose  I  just  ac- 


Cupid  in  Calico  71 

cepted  Rob'ert  as  a  —  background  to  my  life  —  and 
didn't  know  it. 

"  And  studying  to  be  a  doctor  is  so  absorbing,  and 
being  one  is  so  exclusive  of  other  things,  Robert 
hasn't  had  time  to  see  me  since  I  grew  up.  He  wasn't 
in  any  of  the  moonlight  sails  and  the  parties. 

"  But  one  day,  it  bloomed.  In  me,  I  mean.  For 
good  and  all.  I'm  a  goner,  honey. 

"  WenV  *  last  summer  the  General  and  I  were  hav 
ing  a  confidential  time  —  you  know,  about  my  mother 
—  and  I  had  just  had  a  foolish  week  of  imagining 
Robert  cared  for  me  —  when  suddenly  General  Havi- 
land  asked  me,  *  Lassie,  do  you  love  our  lad?  '  And 
I  thought  he'd  read  my  secret  about  Robert  and  I 
said*  Yes  !> 

"  And  —  you  see,  I  can  laugh  at  it  —  I'd  no  sooner 
gotten  back  to  college  than  North  came  Gerald  and 
said  he'd  given  up  hope,  but  his  uncle  had  assured  him 
he  need  not  and  would  I  please!  He  was  so  sure, 
Cousin  Caroline.  And  how  could  I  say  I'd  meant 
Rob? 

"  So  Gerald  went  home  and  wrote  me  a  boyish  let 
ter  that  made  me  so  sorry,  for  the  old  days'  sake. 
And  the  General  sent  a  stiff  little  note  saying  he  pre 
ferred  to  believe  he  had  misunderstood  me  rather  than 
to  think  me  capricious  or  a  coquette  —  me  a  coquette, 
Cousin  Carrie !  "  The  straight,  true  glance,  incapa 
ble  of  guile,  was  its  own  defender.  "  But  he  said 
perhaps  we  had  best  forget  the  old  times  in  order  not 
to  hurt  them  by  the  present. 


72  Melindy 

"  Now,  could  I  write  to  him  and  say :  Dear  Sir, — 
It  was  the  other  nephew  that  I  ordered.  Please  ex 
change?  Especially  when  Robert  isn't  a  bit  in  love 
with  me  except  sort  of  cousinly ! 

"  So  here  we  are.  I  could  do  without  really  pining 
about  Rob.  You  know  the  bitter-sweet  pain  the 
poets  sing !  And,  besides,  it's  good  fun  to  love  a  man 
so  fine  and  earnest,  especially  when  you  don't  in  the 
least  mind  being  unmarried  forever.  But,  oh !  how  I 
grieve  over  the  General!  For  I  knew  he  had  loved 
and  trusted  me  so. 

"  But  he  sent  me  the  flowers  to-day, —  he  did,  he 
did!  And  I  shall  see  him  to-night.  I'll  just  say, 
6  Try  to  trust  me,  dear ;  I  can't  explain.'  And  I'll 
wear  pale  yellow  as  Mother  used.  I'll  fetch  him." 

Meanwhile  Melindy  was  bent  beneath  the  weight, 
not  of  conscience,  but  of  the  pressing  fear  of  detec 
tion. 

"  Da's  de  way  'tis,"  she  grumbled,  "  da's  de  way 
'tis.  I  nebber  ought  teh  hab  de  li'l  sense  teh  go 
lingerin*  'round  folkses  qua'ls.  But  I  did  so  want 
Miss  Nat'lie  teh  be  happy  tehday.  Whatfo'  she  hab 
teh  go  runnin'  teh  de  Gin'al's  house  lickety-split  dis 
ebenin'  soon's  she  come  home?  Some  folks  is  jess 
made  outen  hop-about.  Dey  ain't  got  no  stay-a-li'l- 
while  anywhars  in  dem. 

"  Glo'y  be!  It's  think-right-spry  or  sit-an'-cry  fo' 
me." 

Soon  a  cheerful  solution  suggested  itself  to  her  and 
cleared  away  her  fears. 


Cupid  in  Calico  78 

"Oh,  goody!  I  is  smart.  I'll  jess  do  dat.  I'll 
go  ax  de  Gin'al  —  he  likes  me  so  much  —  I'll  jess  go 
dis  hyah  ebenin'  an*  ax  de  Gin'al  please,  sah,  teh  he'p 
me  out  er  dis  hyah  mix-up." 

The  General  had  seen  the  horses  bearing  his  lassie 
to  her  home.  It  had  been  a  hard  day  for  him.  And 
the  hardest  part  was  to  follow.  For  his  boys  would 
soon  be  home  and  he  and  Robert  would  have  to  speak 
to  Gerald  of  Nathalie. 

The  grim  old  warrior's  unhappy  love-story  had 
given  a  singularly  romantic  turn  to  his  thought.  In 
his  mind  Gerald,  whose  lighter  fancy  bore  no  resem 
blance  to  his  uncle's  lifelong  constancy,  suffered  his 
own  old  pain  and  shone  by  the  light  of  it. 

General  Haviland's  boys  came  home.  The  jubi 
lant  young  architect,  beaming  with  delight,  because 
of  a  new  and  promising1  contract  won  by  him  over  the 
heads  of  older  men,  ran  up  the  cottage  steps,  calling, 
"  Uncle,  Uncle !  I've  won.  I've  beaten  'em  all !  " 

The  weary  young  surgeon,  just  returned  from  a 
critical  day's  hard  work,  held  out  his  hand  to  grasp 
the  sympathetic  uncle's  and  said  quietly,  "  My  diag 
nosis  was  correct,  sir.  She  will  live." 

The  General  relaxed  his  firm  clasp  of  Robert's 
hand  to  place  his  own  tenderly  on  Gerald's  shoulder 
as  he  said,  "  Boys,  our  lass  came  home  to-day." 

Gerald  started.  "  She'd  better  not  come  tangling 
me  up  again,"  he  said,  in  tones  of  serio-comedy. 

"  I  think  I  see  her  coming  now,"  said  Robert,  who 
had  moved  to  the  window. 


74  Melindy 

"  Coming  —  here?  "  gasped  the  General,  paling. 

"  I  cannot  tell  yet,  sir.     How  well  — " 

Up  the  steps  dashed  Melindy,  her  blue  calico 
crackling  with  her  haste. 

"  Gin'al  Hav'land ! "  she  called  imploringly. 
"  Dahlin'  Gin'al  Hav'land !  " 

"  Why,  what  on  earth's  the  matter,  Imp?  " 

"  Gin'al,  dear.  Doan'  tell  on  me,  please,  sah ! 
Doan'  go  tellin'  on  me!  Dem  sweet  peas  I  Miss 
Nat'lie  done  wrote  teh  Miss  Carrie  dat  she  jess 
couldn'  seem  teh  come  home  widout  yo'  sweet  peas 
a-waitin'  f  o'  her,  an'  wouldn'  we  please  teh  stole  some 
from  you.  But  I  knowed  you  was  so  kind  an'  good 
I  jess  wouldn'  stole  from  you,  'cause  you'se  always  so 
pleasant.  So  I  jess  come  by  hyah  dis  mo'nin'  an'  got 
you  to  gib  me  some  fo'  Miss  Nat'lie  fo'  lunch,  Gin'al, 
an'  she  thinks  you  sont  'em  to  'er.  An'  now  she's 
comin' —  you  kin  see  her  down  de  street  a-talkin'  teh 
de  Stevenses  —  now  she's  comin'  teh  thank  you.  Oh ! 
Gin'al,  dear,  ef  you  doan'  tell  on  me  I  won't  tell  how 
you  done  cried  dat  day  when  I  showed  you  her  gradu 
ation  picture  and  you  said  you'd  skin  me  alive  ef  I 
tole.  Please,  sah!" 

Was  it  anger  or  only  glad  relief  that  turned  the 
General  sharp  around  on  his  heel  and  brought  his 
handkerchief  from  his  pocket. 

But  he  turned  back  quickly,  laughing,  "  Imp !  Imp ! 
Imp ! "  just  as  the  lithe  girl  in  lightest  yellow  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway  and  held  out  her  two  firm 
young  hands  to  him. 


Cupid  in  Calico  75 

A  ray  of  late  sunshine  lit  up  her  brown  hair  and 
put  a  light  into  the  yellow  muslin. 

It  was  the  living  replica  of  a  picture  he  had  so 
clearly  remembered  all  his  life. 

"  My  girl !  "  he  cried,  "  Nathalie !  "  and  took  her 
to  his  heart. 

"  I  came  to  thank  you  for  my  dear,  dear  flowers," 
she  said. 

At  that,  the  General  chuckled  and  Melindy  trem 
bled  while  the  boys  welcomed  their  old  playmate, 
Gerald  rather  sentimentally  but  without  embarrass 
ment,  Robert  with  a  glad  simplicity. 

Then  the  perfidious  General  merrily  explained  the 
true  source  ,and  history  of  the  peacemaking  posy. 
But  Melindy,  by  that  trick  which  the  gods  always 
worked  for  her,  found  herself  not  the  culprit  but  the 
heroine  of  the  day. 

"  I  done  got  ti'ed  of  dis  hyah  not  comin'  teh  yeach 
yuther's  houses  no  mo',"  said  she,  "  an'  I  done  put  a 
stop  right  to  it.  Ain't  I  been  cunnin'?  " 

"  Cunning  enough,  Imp,"  replied  the  joyous  Gen 
eral.  "  Run,  Gerald,  and  ask  George  and  Carrie 
and  all  the  babies  to  come  here  for  the  evening. 
We'll  have  some  songs, —  eh,  lass?  Cunning  enough, 
Imp,"  he  repeated  to  Melindy  when  Gerald  had  gone, 
"  but  suppose  we  had  not  forgiven  you  for  fooling 
us,  eh?  What  then?" 

"  Oh,  you  would,  you  sho'ly  would,"  dimpled  the 
irresistible  Melindy.  "  Everybody  always  f orgibs 
me,  'cause  I  doan*  mean  no  hahm.  An'  Miss  Nat'lie 


76  Melindy 

sho'ly,  sho'ly  hab  teh  forgib  me  atter  she  done  kissed 
ev'y  single  sweet  pea  and  held  'em  all  clost  teh  her 
heaht  all  de  way  up  de  stairs  and  kissed  'em  some 
more  when  she  done  sot  dem  up  all  around  Marse 
Robert's  picture  — " 

"  Melindy  !  "  cried  Nathalie  aghast. 

"  Around  Robert's  picture  I "  exclaimed  the  be 
wildered  General,  taken  off  his  guard. 

And  then  for  an  awful  moment  there  was  silence. 

Nathalie,  too  honest  to  deny,  bit  her  lip  and  looked 
at  the  General. 

Dr.  Robert,  very  white,  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  Thank  you,  Nathalie,"  he  said  with  tremulous 
fluency,  "  that  was  a  pretty  compliment." 

But  the  direct  General  was  too  deeply  moved  to 
relieve  the  situation  by  light  amenities. 

"  Robert's !  You  thought  I  meant  —  My  dear 
lass,"  his  voice  faltered,  "  forgive  me." 

"  But  den  " —  according  to  Melindy's  later  report 
to  Suky  — "  Missy  Nat'lie  ain't  said  nothin',  only  jess 
stood  lookin'  down,  gittin'  pink  an'  white  an'  white  an' 
pink  an'  mos*  ready  teh  cry  —  only  she  cayn't  cry  — 
an'  I  saw  Marse  Robert  look  sharp  at  her  a  minute  an* 
his  chest  kep'  a  risin'  up  an'  down  lak  a  pigeon.  Den 
he  say  teh  me,  *  Melindy,'  he  say,  '  Gawd  made  you  1 ' 

"  When  he  say  dat,  Miss  Nat'lie  lif '  her  haid  quick 
an'  look  at  Marse  Rob.  An'  de  two  of  'em  stand 
dere  jess  a-starin*  at  one  'nudder  and  lookin'  in  dey 
eyes  lak  rainbows  an'  grace-befo'-meat. 

"<  Nat'lie."  say  deGin'al. 


Cupid  in  CaEco  77 

"  But  dey  ain't  move. 

"  '  My  Nat'lie ! '  say  de  Gin'al. 

"  And  teh  dat  Marse  Rob  shook  his  haid  lak  *  No,' 
a  li'l,  li'l  bit  an'  smiled. 

"  An'  Miss  Nat'lie  laughed. 

"  An'  all  de  f  olkses  come  in. 

"  An'  dat-ar  blessed  night  Marse  Rob  gib  me  a 
whole  five  dollars,  a  golden  one,  for  lyin'  'bout  de 
Gin'al's  sweet  peas  and  talkin'  too  much  'bout  ma 
betters.  So  I  reckon  he's  plum  crazy." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  BOY  FROM  BACK  OF  TOWN 

MEMNDY'S  gentle  soul  was  seldom  ruffled  by  angry 
passions.  In  every  soft  glance  of  her  velvet  eyes,  in 
every  twinkling  dimple,  every  gentle  intonation  of 
her  voice,  amiability  was  apparent. 

When  an  infrequent  burst  of  temper  did  overtake 
her  it  passed  like  a  summer  thunder  shower,  leaving 
the  landscape  sunnier  and  sweeter  for  its  bath  of  tears. 

Only  towards  the  Boy  from  Back  o'  Town,  Melindy 
nursed  a  deep  and  changeless  hatred. 

Negroes  in  New  Orleans  seldom  indicate  directions 
by  the  points  of  the  compass.  "  Up-town,"  "  down 
town,"  "  by  de  ribber  "  and  "  back  o'  town,"  or  "  by 
de  woods  "  serve  instead. 

"  By  de  ribber  "  and  "  back  o'  town,"  as  might  be 
expected,  the  rougher  elements  of  the  population  have 
their  abode. 

Edwin  Hadley  Osborne  La  Rouche  was  the  name 
by  which  the  Boy  from  Back  o'  Town  was  known. 
It  was  an  eclectic  name,  chosen  from  among  those  of 
many  ex-employers  of  his  father,  whose  own  name  was 
"  Uncle  "  or  "  Unc*  "  Jasper  Robinson. 

"Edwin  Halley  Osbo'ne  La  Rouche!"  Melindy 
ridiculed  scornfully,  addressing  Miss  Eulalia. 

(78 


iThe  Boy  From  Back  of  Town        79 

"  Missy  Euly,  honey,  is  dat  any  kind  ob  name  f  o'  a 
niggah?     Answer  me  dat  now." 

"Well,  Melindy,  you  see,"  said  little  Eulalia, 
"  some  people  has  got  funny  names.  I  know  a  bull 
dog  named  Clover  and  he  doesn't  look  a  least  bit  like 
a  clover.  Not  a  least  bit,  Melindy." 

Melindy  grunted.  "  Well,  Missy,  dat-ar  bulldog 
ain'  got  nothin'  teh  say  'bout  whar  he  name  is.  But 
dis-hyah  back-o'-towner  done  choose  he  name.  Ole 
presumtitious  rapscallion ! " 

Eulalia  opened  her  blue  eyes  wide.  "  Don't  say 
swears,  Melindy.  I  think  it  would  be  fun  to  choose 
your  own  name.  I'd  choose  Flossie  Belle  or  maybe 
Black-eyed  Susan." 

"  I'd  choose  Melindy.  Das  de  pretties'  name  dey 
is,"  declared  that  self-satisfied  young  person. 

"  But  dat-ar  back-o'-towner,  his  name  ought  teh  be 
jail-bird  an'  so  'twill,  ef  he  doan'  look  out  fo'  hisself . 
So  stuck-up  'caze  he's  yaller.'* 

"  Let's  go  get  pomegranates,"  suggested  the  pacific 
Eulalia,  anxious  to  change  the  unpleasant  topic. 
But  Melindy's  mood  was  not  easily  to  be  diverted. 

"  All  right,"  she  agreed,  "  but  lemme  tell  you  whar 
he  done  done,  Missy  Euly. 

"  First  time  he  come  along  hyah  wif  Uncle  Jasper 
Robi'son,  a-walkin'  a  li'l  bit  behead  or  a  li'l  bit  be- 
hine,  a-runnin'  along  or  a-pokin'  along,  an'  Uncle 
Jasper  Robi'son  was  sellin'  veg'tables  an'  he  had  'em 
in  a  li'l  wagon  an'  he  was  a  singin'  out  —  Uncle 
Jasper  was," —  here  Melindy  dramatically  deepened 


80  Melindy 

her  voice  and  made  a  facial  contortion  supposed  to 
be  masculine  and  imitated  the  swinging  cadences, 

'Beets,  <5nions  an'  c6rn 
Cucumbers  an'  sfmlin's 

Yams  an'  tomaties 
An'  I'ish  pataties  an' 

Cdbbage  greens. 
All  I  have 
One  half-a-pint-a  mflk 

Lef  (Sver 
An'  <5ne  watermfllyon.' 

"  An'  'cross  de  street  was  a  big  black  bar-footed 
woman  wif  a  basket  on  her  haid,  singin'  out, 

'Black-bayries! 
Black-bayries ! 
Hyah  y'are! 
Ripe  Black-bayries!' 

"  An'  dis  bad  boy,  ebery  time  dat  'ooman  call  out, 
he  jess  shriek  so  nobody  couldn'  make  out  haid  from 
tail  whar  she  talkin'  about.  But  ebery  time  he  daddy 
call  out  dat  boy  shet  up." 

"  That  was  very  naughty,"  agreed  Eulalia. 

"  Yas'm.  An'  I  jess  couldn'  abide  de  sight  ob  dat 
boy.  He  jess  pizened  ma  eyes.  So  I  went  out  an' 
call  'im,  and  he  done  thunk  I  wanted  teh  buy  some- 
fin';  but  I  jess  say,  *  You  stop  yo'  nonsense,  boy  I ' 

"  An'  he  say,  '  Will  you  be  ma  sweetheart  ef  I 
does?' 

"  An'  I  say,  '  What  call  you  got  to  ax  me  dat-ar? 


The  Boy  From  Back  of  Town        81 

G'long  whar  you  gwine,  an'  behave  yo'se'f .  You  isn' 
no  gempman." 

"  An'  he  say,  '  I  doan'  want-a  be  no  gempman.  I 
wants  teh  be  a  rounder.  I  wants  teh  be  a  back-o'- 
towner.  You'll  marry  me  yit,  gal.' 

"  Das  de  first  time  I  seen  him. 

"  An',  den,  one  day  I'se  a-gwine-a  school,  an'  I  had 
ma  lunch  in  a  li'l  basket,  an'  de  basket  am'  got  no 
top,  'cause  I  done  jess  natchelly  broke  up  de  top  o' 
dat  basket,  an'  dat  boy  runned  inteh  me  runnin'  round 
a  corner  an'  two  hahd-boiled  aigs  jump'  out  ma 
basket,  an'  he  pick  'em  up  an'  run  off  wif  'em  an'  he 
say,  *  Thank  you,  ma'm ! '  teh  me.  An'  I  say,  *  I'se 
been  a-wushin'  I'd  meet  some  po'  beggah  boy  teh  gib 
dem  aigs  teh,'  an'  he  laugh  fit  teh  kill." 

"  Oh !  "  sympathized  Eulalia. 

"  Yas'm.  An'  next  time  I  seen  him,  'twas  Sunday. 
And  I  was  all  dress  up  so  pretty  an'  walkin'  'long 
wif  Remus  an'  Ramus.  I  was  all  duded  up  in  pretty 
pink  ribbons  dat  Miss  Nat'lie  done  sont  me.  An'  I 
done  gave  one  ob  dem  great  big  pink  bows  teh  Remus 
an'  she  done  tied  it  on  her  teeny  li'l  pigtail  dat  stan's 
up  so  straight  on  her  haid.  An'  I  done  gave  one 
great  big  pink  bow  teh  Ramus  fer  a  necktie.  An' 
we  was  all  walkin'  so  high  an'  spry  an'  'long  come  dat 
back-o'-town  boy.  An'  he  say, —  he  got  a  awful 
gross  voice, —  he  say,  *  Lan'  sakes !  Mus'  been  a 
cheap  sale  ob  pink  ribbon  somewhar ! '  An'  I  say, 
'  Pity  dey  doan'  sell  sassiness  too,  'stead  ob  g'win*  it 


82  Melindy 

away ! '  But  I  jess  wanted  teh  cry.  I  was  so  plum 
outdone.  An*  Remus  an'  Ramus,  dey  did  cry  de 
whole  way  home.  I  suttinly  wush  de  debbil  come  scare 
de  life  outen  dat  boy ! 

"  An'  de  wust  ob  it  is,  I'se  got-a  go  teh-day  an' 
tek  a  note  teh  Miss  Du  Fossat,  an'  dat  boy's  ma  works 
fo'  de  Du  Fossats.  An'  I  jess  doan'  want-a  see  him." 

This  was  a  great  tribute  to  her  tormentor's  success 
in  mischief,  for  the  generous  Du  Fossats  owned  a 
famous  fig  orchard  wherein  Melindy  delighted. 

"  Dey's  lots  ob  fig-trees,"  she  used  to  say,  "  but  de 
Du  Fossats,  dey  got  dese-ar  great  big  purkle  sugar 
figses  dat's  jess  put  dar  teh  show  de  res'  ob  de  fig- 
trees  whar  kin  be  did  ef  dey  tries." 

Furthermore,  this  delectable  garden  was  "  'way 
down-town,"  in  the  old  French  part  of  the  city,  truly 
another  world  from  that  to  which  Melindy  was  used, 
a  world  of  still,  crumbling  stateliness,  paved  courts 
and  interior  garden-squares,  of  broad  flagged  avenues 
edged  with  once-splendid  mansions,  and  narrow- 
twisted  brick  lanes  flanked  by  little  houses  made  like 
two  boxes,  a  smaller  set  back  on  a  larger,  and  trimmed 
by  dingy  balustrades, —  a  world  of  rusty  iron  gate 
ways  and  heavy  window-blinds. 

Usually  the  novelty  of  these  surroundings,  and  the 
strange  little  children  who  spoke  only  French  or  a 
pretty  patois  of  French-English,  so  interested  Me 
lindy  that  a  visit  to  Miss  Agostine's  was  a  treat  indeed. 

But  now !  — "  Well,"  she  sighed,  "  mebbe  dat  back- 
o'-towner  will  be  off  peddlin'  wif  his  daddy." 


The  Boy  From  Back  of  Town        83 

But  —  alas !  —  Melindy  soon  saw  Edwin  Hadley 
Osborne  La  Rouche  standing  with  hands  in  his 
pockets  and  a  general  swaggering  air  of  importance 
before  a  little  fruit-stand  on  a  street  corner. 

"  Miss  Agostine  done  sont  me  hyah,  fo'  a  water- 
millyon,"  he  was  saying  to  the  Italian  proprietor, 
"  because  I'se  a  good  jedge  ob  millyons.  Ma 
daddy's  a  millyonere  too.  Now,  dat  one  ain'  no  good 
at  all.  Plug  up  anudder  one,  please,  sah." 

Venders  in  New  Orleans  have  a  large-spirited  cus 
tom,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  prospective  purchaser, 
of  carving  a  triangular  wedge  or  plug  out  of  any 
melon  he  may  designate  and  from  that  cutting  a  bit 
for  him  to  taste. 

When  he  of  the  long  name  and  short  conscience 
had  tasted  and  rejected  two  very  excellent  melons 
and  demanded  a  third  for  trial,  the  guileless  Italian 
at  last  saw  a  light  and  railed  upon  him  in  a  fiery 
stream  of  Tuscan  which  was  to  Edwin  not  the  least 
enjoyable  part  of  the  adventure. 

Melindy  passed  by  in  fine  scorn. 

But  Edwin  hailed  her,  "  Oh!  Dere  goes  ma  gal!" 
he  called. 

She  took  to  her  light  heels.  But  the  boy's  long 
stride  overtook  her,  and,  "  Whar  did  you  git  dem 
pretty  shoes  ?  "  he  shouted  close  to  her  elbow. 

Ah !  cry  "  Touchee !  "  Succumb,  Melindy,  for  the 
unguarded  spot  in  your  character  is  pierced. 

Melindy  smiled  a  little  dubiously  and  still  without 
good-will,  but  stopped  and  answered, 


84  Melindy 

"Ain'  dem  pretty?  My  Miss  Nat'lie  done  come 
f'um  Noo  York  an'  I  done  got  dese  hyah  new  shoes 
speshul  fo'  teh  wear  when  she  come  home.  Ma  Sis 
Suky's  got  new  shoes  too." 

"  Huh !  She  ain'  got  pretty  li'l  f eetses  lak  yourn. 
She's  got  canal-boats." 

Melindy  flared.  She  liked  the  compliment  but  was 
too  loyal  to  let  the  insult  pass. 

"  Ain' !     She's  got  Spanish  feet,  Suky  is." 

" What's  dat  you  said?" 

"Yassir,"  proudly,  "ma  Sis  Suky's  got  Spanish 
feet,  cause  de  shoe-store  man  done  say  so.  Ma  Sis 
didn'  want-a  tek  a  par  shoes  'cause  dey  hurted  her. 
But  de  shoe-store  man  he  say,  *  Oh!  YES  !  you  kin 
wear  dem-ar  shoes;  dey's  mos'  becomin'  teh  yo'  feet, 
— 'cause  you  is  got  li'l  feet  wif  a  high  instep. 
You'se  got  one  er  dese  hyah  regular  Spanish  feet, 
you  is.' 

"  So  ma  Sis  say  teh  me,  *  Das  a  compliment, 
Melindy.' 

"  So  I  say  to  Sis,  '  Yas'm,  das  a  compliment,'  an" 
I  say  to  de  shoe-store  man,  *  Only  one  trouble  'bout 
it.  Dat-ar  mos'  becomin'  shoe  is  about  two  sizes  too 
small  fo'  ma  Sis,  an'  dat-ar  pretty  Spanish  foot  is 
got  a  niggah  bunion  on  it.'  So  Suky  didn'  buy  dem 
shoes.  But  she  is  got  pretty  feet,  Suky  is," —  with 
a  return  of  animosity.  "  Go  'long,  boy !  " 

"  Which  way  is  you  gwine,  Melindy  ?  " 

"  Which  way  is  you  gwine  ?  " 

"  Won't  tell  you  'twell  you  tell  me." 


The  Boy  From  Back  of  Town        85 

"Well,  den,  I'll  tell  you.  I'se  gwine  whichebber 
way  you  ain9  gwine." 

"  No,  you  ain'.     Cause  I'se  a  follerin'  you  dar." 

"  Why  ain't  you  workin'  wif  you'  daddy  ?  " 

"  I  doan'  hab  teh  work  no  mo'.  I'se  got  a  job 
now.  I'se  Miss  Agostine's  arrand  boy,  I  is.  Dere's 
Miss  Agostine  now.  What  she  done  tole  me  teh  git? 
I  clean  fergit." 

Agostine  De  Fossat  had  just  come  down  to  the 
gate  to  look  for  her  errant  errand  boy.  Her  white 
summer  frock  made  the  one  spot  of  light  against  the 
dark  background  of  the  dull  brown  house  in  its 
shadowy  flowerless  grounds  filled  with  untended  fig- 
trees  and  moss-laden  live-oaks. 

A  scrap  of  a  girl  was  Agostine,  very  small  and 
dark  with  a  piquant  devil's  beauty,  under  masses  of 
lusterless  coal  black  hair.  A  little  over-intense  she 
was  in  gesture,  over-alert  in  poise,  over-beseeching 
in  eye-prayer,  over-sensitive  of  mouth, —  a  sweet, 
good,  self-conscious,  romantic  little  girl,  devoid  of 
humor. 

She  was  plainly  startled  at  the  sight  of  Melindy, 
and  clasped  her  little  brown  hands  over  her  heart  as 
the  children  approached.  Edwin  she  punished  with 
a  long,  reproachful  glance  and  smiled  upon  Melindy, 
who  gave  her  Nathalie's  letter  with  the  cordial  re 
mark, 

"  You  suttinly  is  a  sight  fo'  sore  eyes,  Miss  Du 
Fossat.  You  ain'  been  to  our  house  sence  longer'n 
it  teks  a  alligator  teh  turn  somersaults." 


86  Melindy 

"  Ah ! "  said  Agostine,  with  her  quaint  foreign  ac 
cent,  "  'tis  from  my  very  own  dear  Nathalie.  Go 
you  into  the  orchard,  Melindy,  and  eat  what  you 
will.  Edwin,  go  at  once  to  your  mother,  who  will 
scold  you  well.  I  will  soon  write  an  answer,  Me 
lindy." 

Melindy  hastened  into  the  orchard  and  up  the  gar 
den  ladder,  which  luckily  stood  beneath  her  favorite 
tree. 

"  Got-a  be  quick,"  she  thought,  "  fo'  well  I  knows 
dis  Miss  Agostine.  She's  kine  an'  lib'ral  but  awful 
subjec'  teh  a  change  ob  heart.  She'll  tell  you  teh 
go  pick  figses  an'  den  ef  you  doan'  keep  yo'  ears 
tight  shut,  fust  thing  you  knows  she'll  be  a  callin' 
teh  you  teh  come  look  at  pictures,  befo'  you  done 
got  yo'self  mo'n  half  full  o'  figses." 

So  Melindy  climbed  the  tree  like  a  lizard,  while 
Edwin  dragged  his  reluctant  steps  to  the  kitchen. 

Agostine  ran  upstairs,  threw  herself  upon  her  bed, 
the  note  still  unopened,  clasped  to  her  breast. 

"Oh!  my  darling  Nathalie!"  she  wailed,  "my 
adored  Nathalie !  What  thoughts  I  have  had  of  you ! 
I  dare  not  show  even  your  good  writing  my  deceitful 
face.  You  trust  me  still  —  you  do  not  know, —  and 
I  —  I  tried  my  best  to  make  Gerald  forget  you. 
As  if  any  one  could  forget  you  for  me !  And  even  I 
dreaded  to  have  you  come  home, —  I,  who  have  al 
ways  wanted  you!  —  and  I  invited  him  and  invited 
him  until  he  became  tired  of  coming.  So  blind  was 
I!  And  now,  what  have  you  written  to  me? 


The  Boy  From  Back  of  Town        87 

Some  sweet  thing  you  would  not  have  written  if  you 
knew, —  it  will  stab  to  my  heart.  But,  I  must  now 
look." 

Melindy  would  certainly  have  condemned  Agos- 
tine's  Latin  temperament  as  indeed  "  subjec'  to  a 
change  ob  heart,"  if  she  could  have  seen  the  quick 
transformation  from  theatrical  tragedy  to  girlish  in 
credulous  delight  that  brought  her  to  sit  sharp  up 
right,  smiling  as  she  read, — 

"  Tina,  Tinalina: 

You  precious  little  idiot,  when  are  you  coming  to 
see  me?  I've  been  looking  in  every  crack  and 
pigeonhole  for  you,  ever  since  I've  been  home  and  I 
can't  find  you  anywhere.  Am  I  not  enough  to  at 
tract  you,  alone,  or  must  I  invite  Gerald  to  supper 
on  Sunday?  Or  any  other  person  you  name  if  your 
caprice  has  found  another  victim  ?  There  —  do  you 
get  that,  littlest  tragedy  queen? 

Come  along  and  be  simple ! 

Thine  own, 

NATHALIE." 

Just  as  Agostine  had  completed  a  beatific  note  ac 
cepting  Nathalie's  invitation  and  frankly,  eagerly 
choosing  Gerald  for  her  vis-a-vis  at  supper,  a  wild 
scream  broke  upon  her  happy  bewilderment. 

She  sprang  to  the  window  to  see  Melindy  on  the 
ladder,  madly  pulling  herself  up  into  the  branches 
of  the  tree  to  escape  the  huge  pitchfork  with  which 


88  Melindy 

Edward  on  the  ground  below  essayed  to  puncture 
her  agile  legs. 

Once  safe  she  looked  down  and  glared  upon  him. 

"  Ef  you'll  say  dat  you'll  be  my  gal  I'll  let  you 
down,"  said  the  precocious  Boy  from  Back  of  Town. 

With  difficulty  refraining  from  tears  of  vexation, 
Melindy  saw  Agostine  hastening  to  the  rescue,  and 
ignored  her  tantalizer.  For,  as  she  foresaw,  he  was 
at  once  ignominiously  banished. 

"  Come  you  down,  Melindy  child.  Here  is  your 
note  for  Miss  Nathalie.  Never  mind  Edwin.  He  is 
a  wicked  tease,  but  means  no  harm." 

Melindy  smiled.  "  H'm !  When  hahm's  done 
been  done,  it's  done  been  done  jess  es  brown's  ef  some 
body  meant  it.  Man  ain't  no  deader  ef  you  shoots 
him  'cause  you  hates  him  den  ef  you  shoots  him  fo' 
a  joke.  But  dat-ar  boy  do  mean  hahm,  Missy.  An' 
he's  mo*  trouble  dan  lessons  in  summer." 

"  But  he  likes  you,  Melindy,"  pursued  Agostine. 
"  Did  he  not  say  he  wanted  you  for  his  little  sweet 
heart?  » 

"Huh!  Dat's  jess  'cause  I  ain'  got  no  use  fo' 
him.  Ef  I  went  along  lookin'  fo'  dat  boy  he'd  go 
lookin*  fo*  somebody  else.  Men's  jess  dat  contrary, 
Miss  Agostine." 

The  impressionable  Agostine  started,  then  she 
stood  a  moment  in  thought. 

"Wait  a  little  longer,  cJierle,"  she  said,  "I'll 
change  this  note,  I  think." 

And  accepting  the  advice,  unconsciously  given,  of 


The  Boy  From  Back  of  Town        89 

her  small  guide,  philosopher  and  friend,  she  re-en 
tered  the  house,  destroyed  her  letter  and  wrote  to 
Nathalie  that  she  would  sup  on  Sunday  with  her  and 
the  family  alone. 

"  I'd  like  Gerald,  of  course,"  she  added  honestly, 
"  but  I  think  it  is  his  move  now." 

"  Now,  go  home  quickly,  my  dear,"  she  said  as  she 
gave  the  revised  note  to  the  child.  "  Edwin  shall 
rest  indoors  until  you  have  gone.  He  shall  not 
bother  you." 

Melindy  departed  gladly  from  the  scene  of  her 
persecutions,  for,  accustomed  to  the  affectionate  pro 
tection  of  all  her  world,  she  was  keenly  sensitive  to 
malice  and  mischief. 

She  could  not  hurry  too  rapidly,  she  knew.  For 
her  Miss  Nathalie  had  urged,  "  Do  be  quick, 
child." 

And  Miss  Carrie  had  laughingly  added,  "  Yes, 
Eros,  speed  fleetly,"  for  she  understood  the  underly 
ing  motive  of  Nathalie's  anxiety. 

Though  Robert  and  Nathalie  were  living  through 
the  golden  days  of  that  radiant  understanding  that 
precedes  speech  and  precludes  it,  there  was  still  the 
pang  of  a  painful  perplexity  in  the  feeling  that,  by 
forces  outside  themselves,  they  were  withheld  from 
speaking. 

The  General,  for  all  his  grim  brusqueness,  was  a 
sentimentalist  unashamed.  He  felt  that  it  was 
Robert's  duty  not  to  tell  his  love  until  time  had 
healed  a  little  the  freshness  of  Gerald's  wound,  or 


90  Melindy 

by  slow  gradations  had  shown  to  the  less  fortunate 
wooer  the  true  state  of  Nathalie's  predilections. 

Freely  to  Robert  and  by  delicate  innuendo  to  Na 
thalie,  the  General  had  made  his  opinions  known.  His 
wishes  were  law  unto  them  both. 

Robert,  himself,  though  he  did  not  take  Gerald's 
fancy  with  great  seriousness,  was  loth  to  wound  his 
brother's  vanity  and  unwillingly  willing  to  wait  until 
the  youngster's  susceptible  soul  should  be  preoccu 
pied  by  some  other  charmer. 

This  position  Nathalie  understood.  Besides,  she 
had  seen  in  Gerald's  attitude  to  Agostine,  in  his  con 
sideration  of  her  caprices,  in  his  admiring,  pleased 
amusement  at  her  vehement  little  intensities,  in  the 
quiet  protection  of  his  manner  to  her,  a  stability  and 
reality  of  interest  that  had  been  entirely  absent  from 
his  more  spectacular  courtship  of  Nathalie  herself. 

Knowing  that  Agostine  had  made  Gerald  the  hero 
of  her  dreams,  Nathalie  hoped,  by  judicious  jux 
taposition,  to  waken  this  romance  to  self -conscious 
ness.  Therefore,  the  note  that  Melindy  carried  was 
freighted  with  many  hopes,  and  the  answer  eagerly 
awaited. 

Time  passed  and  the  day  grew  old,  but  the  little 
messenger  did  not  reappear. 

Heavy  rain  came  down,  a  steady,  semi-tropic 
downpour  without  enthusiasm  or  fitfulness,  an  ear 
nest,  business-like  drenching  rain  that  fell  in  unde- 
viating  windless  sheets  and  soon  flooded  the  streets 
from  curb  to  curb. 


The  Boy  From  Back  of  Town        91 

Miss  Carrie  and  Nathalie  were  distressed,  for  the 
child  had  gone  without  an  umbrella. 

But  Suky  scoffed  at  their  anxiety. 

"  Nemmind,  honeys,"  she  said,  "  she's  a'right. 
Dat  li'l  niggah  ain'  no  salt  ner  yit  sugar.  She  won't 
melt.  She's  standin'  under  some  shed  or  on  some 
body's  gallery  mos'  likely, —  a-waiting  f o'  de  rain  to 
pass  an'  tellin'  all  she  knows  an'  a  whole  lot  mo'." 

But,  no;  Melindy  was  in  flight,  pursued  by  her 
ancient  enemy,  the  Boy  from  Back  o'  Town. 

He  had  escaped  his  guards  and  stalked  forth  with 
a  "  cap-pistol  "  a  small,  noisy  toy  weapon  that  was  all 
bark  and  no  bite  but  very  formidable  to  see  and  hear. 

"Hello!  Am  dis  you?"  he  asked  triumphantly 
appearing  in  her  path. 

"  Dis  am  de  essence  ob  me,"  replied  Melindy  with 
great  dignity. 

"  I  got  somefin  fo'  you." 

"  I  doan'  want  it,  thank  you." 

"  Doan'  you  want  I  should  tell  you  whar  'tis  ?  " 

Melindy  made  no  reply. 

"  Look  hyah !  I  went  fishin'  in  de  bayou  dis 
mohnin*.  Hyah's  a  li'l  fish  I  cotched  fo'  you.  I 
didn'  dare  tote  it  out  befo'  Miss  Agostine  an*  ma 
mammy.  But  looky  hyah " —  and  Edwin  unbut 
toned  his  blouse  and  revealed  a  small  fish,  long  dead 
but  still  clinging  with  great  constancy  to  the  not  too 
clean  fabric  of  his  undershirt. 

Melindy,  the  exquisite,  shuddered  and  hastened 
forward. 


92  Melindy 

But  Edwin  was  patient. 

"  You  ain'  got  no  call  teh  be  so  stuck-up,  M'lindy, 
if  you  does  go  to  school  every  day.  I  goes  teh 
school,  too, —  some  days.  I  done  been  teh  kinder 
garten  too.  Is  you  ebber  been  teh  kindergarten, 
M'lindy?" 

"No,"  scornfully,  "I  ain'  nebber  been  li'l 
enough." 

"M'lindy,  I  want  you  fo'  ma  li'l  sweetheart,  I 
does." 

"  Say,  hyah,  boy !  Mebbe  you  cayn't  always  git 
what  you  wants,  but  you  kin  always  want  whar  you 
kin  git, —  ef  das  any  comfort."  Melindy  enjoyed 
her  own  wit  and  would  have  become  better-humored 
at  once  if  Edwin,  at  this  juncture,  had  not  whipped 
out  his  pistol  and  begun  to  fire. 

Melindy  had  a  dire  fear  of  firearms  and  did  not 
appreciate  the  inoffensive  nature  of  this  one.  She 
screamed  and  ran.  At  first  in  a  leisurely  noncha 
lance,  later  quickening  his  pace,  Edwin  ran  around 
the  block  and  met  her  as  she  turned  the  corner. 

The  passersby  —  and  they  were  few  —  saw  only 
a  pair  of  pickaninnies  at  a  game.  But  Melindy  was 
in  true  terror  and  ran  from  street  to  street  until  she 
had  lost  Edwin,  indeed, —  but  her  way  as  well. 

And,  then,  the  rain  fell  heavily. 

Melindy  stood  under  a  fruit  dealer's  shed,  very 
near  to  tears,  waiting  for  the  rain  to  cease  that  she 
might  inquire  the  way  to  the  car  that  would  take  her 
home. 


The  Boy  From  OBacK  of  Town       93 

Poor  little  one!  Her  heart  was  deeply  torn,  for, 
in  the  flurry  and  distress  of  the  chase,  she  had  lost 
Miss  Agostine's  letter.  And  in  her  responsibility  to 
an  errand  she  was  conscience  itself. 

In  the  meantime  her  mistress  and  Miss  Nathalie, 
hourly  growing  more  alarmed,  had,  in  watching 
through  the  window,  seen  Gerald,  with  his  trousers 
rolled  up,  picking  his  way  along  the  car-tracks, 
through  the  flood. 

He  hailed  them  gayly  and  they  called  eagerly  in 
chorus,  **  Going  down  town,  Gerry  ?  Oh !  Can  you 
come  here  first  ?  " 

He  turned  his  trousers  still  higher  and  nobly 
waded  through  the  waters  and  came  to  the  door  for 
instructions. 

"  Thy  slave !  "  he  said  to  Nathalie.  "  Talk  about 
your  Hellesponts ! " 

"  Indeed  the  gods  have  sent  you,"  she  laughed, 
then  mysteriously,  "  who  knows  ?  Perhaps  a  god 
from  the  machine!  Will  you  go,"  she  continued  se 
riously,  "to  Du  Fossats*  to  hunt  Melindy?  She's 
been  gone  perfect  ages  and  it's  raining  so.  I  sent 
her  with  a  note  to  Agostine  asking  her  to  come  here 
for  supper  Sunday  night  and  whether  I  might  in 
vite  you  too," —  for  Nathalie,  reckoning  without  Me 
lindy,  never  dreamed  that  Agostine  would  decide 
against  Gerald's  presence, — "  so,  you  see,  it's  to 
your  interest  too." 

He  went,  of  course,  and,  before  he  reached  the 
Maison  Du  Fossat,  encountered  the  drenched,  dis- 


94  Melindy 

tressed  and  desolate  Melindy  recounting  to  the  sym 
pathetic  fruiterer  the  wickedness  of  the  Boy  from 
Back  o'  Town. 

She  wept  for  joy  at  the  sight  of  Gerald. 

"  Mas'r  Gerry !  Mas'r  Gerry !  "  she  cried, 
"  you'se  a  pink  angel  wif  goP  wingses,  you  sho'  is ! 
I'se  losted,  Mas'r  Gerry.  Please  teh  find  me,  sah. 
An',"  here  the  tears  rivaled  the  rain,  "I'se  done 
losted  Miss  'Gostine's  writin'.  White  folks  suttinly 
do  love  to  write,  Mas'r  Gerry.  Ef  she'd  done  tole 
me  de  answer  'twouldn't  nebber  happened.  An' 
moufs  was  made  before  writin'  paper,  sah,  an'  you 
cayn't  lose  dem.  Wush  dat-ar  Edwin  La  Rouche 
niggah  could  lose  his'n.  Nobody'd  begrudge  him  de 
loss."  And  she  related  her  wrongs. 

Gerald  laughed  and  comforted  her.  "  Never 
mind,  Melindy.  You  come  along  with  me,  and  jump 
on  the  next  car  and  go  home  to  get  some  dry  clothes. 
And  I'll  go  to  Miss  Agostine's  and  find  out  her  an 
swer  for  Miss  Nathalie.  And  I'll  fix  that  bad  boy 
too!" 

"Huh!  Nothin'  cayn't  fix  dat  boy.  He  was 
made  wrong  from  de  start.  Cayn't  fix  dar-ar  Ed 
win,  any  more'n  you  kin  fix  a  bad  aig,  Mas'r  Gerry. 
Loss  of  folks  is  some  bad  an'  some  folks  is  lots  bad, — 
but  dat  boy's  a  out-an-outer !  " 

Partially  placated,  rather  enjoying  the  conscious 
ness  of  a  new  adventure,  Melindy  rode  homeward. 

Gerald  approached  the  home  of  the  Du  Fossats. 

He  was  not  sure  whether  he  drew  nearer  to  Agos- 


The  Boy  From  Back  of  Town        95 

tine  with  pain  or  pleasure.  But  he  was  conscious  of 
a  peculiar  hesitancy,  a  half -unwilling  expectancy  in 
his  mood. 

More  than  once  during  his  long  pursuit  of  Na 
thalie,  the  thought  of  Agostine  had  brought  a  vague, 
distant  promise  and  pleasure,  like  the  far-off  sound 
of  running  water,  and  for  some  months  he  had  all 
but  abandoned  the  bright  quest  to  rest  in  this  gentle 
ravine. 

But  in  a  little  while,  he  had  blamed  himself  for  in 
constancy, —  not  recognizing  the  fuller  call, —  and 
followed  the  old  flame  with  greater  ardor.  Still, 
there  always  was  to  him  in  Agostine's  presence  a 
restful  peace  that  made  his  subsequent  restlessness 
the  greater. 

Agostine  was  singing.  A  man  was  singing  with 
her.  The  lamp  in  the  drawing-room  was  lighted; 
and,  Gerald  saw,  bending  over  the  pianoforte,  Agos 
tine's  second  cousin,  Lieutenant  Ramon  de  Bonne- 
ville.  They  were  singing  that  delightsome  Eliza 
bethan  song, 

N'oserez-vous,  mon  bel  ami? 

singing  charmingly,  with  voices  harmoniously 
blended.  But  Gerald  found  no  pleasure  in  the  song. 
Indeed,  it  so  piqued  him  that  he  sounded  the  bell 
quickly  to  put  an  end  to  it,  saying  to  himself  with 
some  rancour,  "  The  Montana  must  be  in  port  again. 
Hasn't  that  ship  anything  to  do  but  hang  around 
New  Orleans?  " 


96  Melindy 

The  room  looked  inviting  after  the  rain.  There 
were  fresh  roses  newly  set  in  a  vase, —  a  spray  of 
leaves  had  fallen  to  the  well-worn  carpet. 

Agostine  was  flushed,  with  the  song,  perhaps, — 
perhaps,  Gerald  thought,  not  only  the  song. 

He  felt  injured,  though  without  cause,  he  ruefully 
realized. 

No,  he  would  not  come  in  further  than  the  hallway. 
He  had  come  to  bring  a  message. 

Briefly,  a  little  stiffly,  he  told  of  Edwin's  misdoings 
and  Melindy's  disaster,  extracted  a  promise  of  pun 
ishment  for  the  sinful  back-o-towner  and  then, 

"  If  you  will  write  another  note  to  take  the  place 
of  the  lost  one,"  he  said,  "  or  give  me  a  verbal  mes 
sage,  if  you  like,  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  your  courier." 

66  Thank  you,"  said  Agostine,  "  I  am  sorry  you 
have  so  much  trouble.  Please,  then,  tell  Nathalie 
that  I  will  so  gladly  come  to  her  Sunday  evening,  and 
that,  if  she  please," —  here  Agostine  flushed  more 
ruddily  — "  I  should  prefer  no  other  guest  to  be  with 
us." 

Gerald  started  with  a  stab  of  pain.  Of  course  she 
did  not  know  that  he  was  aware  that  his  own  presence 
had  been  suggested  by  Nathalie.  But  why  had 
Agostine  not  desired  it? 

"  Good  night,"  said  Gerald,  and  departed. 

"  By  Jove ! "  he  added  to  himself,  "  who  ever 
would  have  thought  that  Agostine  Du  Fossat  was  a 
flirt!" 

Then  the  fundamental  honesty  that  underlay  his 


The  Boy  From  Back  of  Town        97 

boyish  exuberancies  and  vagaries  asserted  itself. 
Gerald  stood  still  in  the  rain  and  frankly  faced  his 
own  consciousness. 

He  laughed. 

"  And  I  never  knew  it ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  all  the 
time! 

"  I  wonder  if  Nathalie  thought, —  if  that's  why 
she  wrote,  why  she  said  that  crypticism  about  the 
god  from  the  machine !  By  Jove !  Maybe  I've  been 
discovering  more  than  a  lost  little  pickaninny." 

He  hastened  back  to  the  white  house  to  be  sure  of 
that  small  person's  safe  arrival. 

Melindy,  clad  in  dry  raiment  was  eating  her  sup 
per,  surrounded  by  her  admiring  court  of  children. 
The  elders,  with  Gerald,  went  into  the  servants'  din 
ing-room  to  see  her. 

"Well,  Melindy,"  Gerald  assured  her,  "Miss 
Agostine  says  she  will  punish  Edwin  well." 

Melindy  looked  up  dubiously. 

"  Mebbe  so,"  she  said,  "  but  mos'  likely  she'll  jess 
look  sorrowful  till  Edwin  tells  her  some  grea'  big  fib. 
You  see,  Miss  Nathalie,  dis-ar  Miss  'Gostine,  she 
ain'  sech  a  strong  strength  to  nobody's  quarrel, 
'cause  she's  in  favor  of  everybody." 

"Oh!  Melindy!  She  isn't,"  cried  Gerald.  To 
himself  he  wondered,  "Is  she?"  and  aloud  he  said, 
"  Well,  anyway,  that  boy  will  no  longer  trouble  you. 
For  I'll  ask  Uncle  Jasper  Robinson  to  give  strict  or 
ders  that  Edwin  shall  never  speak  to  you  at  all." 

Melindy  jumped  down  from  her  chair  in  dismay. 


98  Melindy 

"  Please,  sah,  doan'  do  dat ! "  she  urged,  "  please, 
sah,  doan !  I  doesn'  mind  Edwin  so  much,  at  all,  no 
mo'.  You  see,  eberybody  has  teh  hab  a  enemy.  An' 
dis-ar  Edwin  Halley  Osbo'ne  La  Rouche,  he's  sech  a 
good,  sharp  enemy, —  lak  a  dash  ob  seasonin'  in  de 
gravy." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FOOLS'  GOLD 

THE  day  that  everybody  got  lost  became  historic 
in  the  annals  of  the  family.  It  was  a  day  of  be 
wilderments  and  searchings. 

Baby  began  the  excitement.  Baby  had  recently 
discovered  the  real  use  of  his  feet.  He  had  long  out 
grown  the  notion  that  they  were  primarily  to  chew 
upon  and,  with  occasional  backslidings,  had  even 
abandoned  the  later  usage  of  rapturous  wigglings 
and  fumblings  with  the  lovely,  round,  pink  toes  that 
decorated  them.  This  was  largely  —  it  must  be  ad 
mitted —  because  they  were  encased  in  hard  shiny 
shoes  that  did  not  come  off  as  readily  as  had  the  soft 
woolen  bootees  of  an  earlier  stage.  Nowadays,  he 
saw  their  natural  charms  at  sleepy  times  only,  or  on 
the  way  to  the  more  interesting  bath. 

But  one  day  he  had  found  by  chance  that  —  care 
fully  and  with  misgivings,  it  is  true- — one  could 
raise  oneself  up  and  rest  upon  them,  upright,  emanci 
pated  for  one  ecstatic,  wobbly,  fearsome  moment  be 
fore  they  gave  'way  all  too  suddenly  for  comfort. 

Baby  was  a  true  sportsman.  He  essayed  this  po 
sition  again  and  again  and  was  not  dismayed  by  un 
premeditated  and  numerous  sitting-downs  on  hard 

H 


100  Melindy 

floors  or  nursery  rugs.  After  many  trials  he  could 
circle  a  chair  or  follow  the  wall  for  a  few  uncertain 
minutes  with  comparative  safety  and  success. 

At  this  point,  Mother  and  Mammy  undertook  to 
spur  ambition  forward,  one  holding  him  upright,  the 
other  kneeling  on  the  far  end  of  the  rug, —  many 
leagues  away,  it  seemed  to  Baby, —  and  urging  him 
to  cross  alone  the  endless  distance  between  them. 

For  a  long  time,  on  these  occasions,  Baby  looked 
at  the  intervening  space  with  a  dubious  smile,  then 
put  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  shook  his  head,  turned 
his  back  upon  the  enterprise  and  buried  a  tearful  and 
humiliated  face  on  a  protecting  bosom. 

But  at  last,  one  happy  day,  he  felt  that  he  could 
do  it.  His  heart  beat  high,  he  was  filled  with  devil- 
may-care  recklessness,  a  fever  of  great  emprise.  He 
started.  The  die  was  cast.  He  hurled  himself  for 
ward.  Mother  caught  him.  Somehow  the  distance 
was  passed.  It  was  done ! 

Oh!  The  joyous  chortles  then,  the  cries  of  de 
light  that  brought  an  admiring  family  up  into  the 
nursery,  the  kissings  and  congratulations,  the  festival 
dance  of  adoring  sister  and  brothers.  Baby  had 
walked. 

Since  then  he  had  learned  by  experience  the  se 
cret  of  automatic  transportation.  One  had  only  to 
lift  a  foot  as  high  as  was  compatible  with  a  vertical 
position,  put  it  down  as  far  forward  as  the  conse 
quent  angle  would  permit,  draw  oneself  up  to  it  and 


Fools'  Gold  101 

repeat  with  the  other  foot.  This  was  quite  delight 
ful  and  made  sad  and  lonely  vigils  unnecessary  and 
passees. 

To  the  enslaved  family,  however,  Baby's  progress 
had  one  serious  defect.  He  had  an  adventuresome 
spirit  and,  as  he  gained  in  accuracy,  speed  and  self- 
reliance,  developed  a  habit  of  sly  and  mysterious  dis 
appearances,  that  drove  his  good  old  black  Mammy 
66  pretty  nigh  frantic." 

On  the  morning  of  this  eventful  day,  her  Baby  had 
lost  himself  twice  in  the  big  garden.  "  Fo'  de  land's 
sake ! "  she  panted,  settling  her  bright  bandanna 
headdress  and  rearranging  the  neat  white  fichu  on 
her  ample  bosom,  as  she  appeared  driving  her  high- 
stepping  and  unrepentant  charge  before  her,  "  I'se 
done  nussed  you  an'  yo'  Ma  an'  yo'  aunts  and  uncles 
an'  all  de  chilluns  in  dis-yer  f ambly ;  an'  I  ain't  neb- 
ber  seen  sich  a  gad-about  es  you  is,  in  all  ma  born 
days.  Yo'  ole  Mammy's  too  ole  fo'  all  dis  huntin' 
an'  chasm'.  You  needs  a  good  lickin',  you  does, 
honey.  Come  hyah  an'  kiss  yo'  Mammy.  Did  yeh 
ever  see  anythin'  lak  dat  boy  ?  "  she  asked  proudly. 

"  I  know  jess  how  you  feel,  Mammy  dear,"  Eu- 
lalia  sighed  as  she  ran  to  bring  Mammy  a  big  palm- 
leaf  fan,  "  I  have  just  the  same  troubles  with  Chee- 
weety.  I've  begged  that  chicken,  and  begged  and 
begged  and  begged  her  not  to  run  away.  But  she 
will  do  it,  Mammy, —  just  like  Baby  will.  Only  you 
can  keep  Baby  'mused  some  of  the  time.  But  that 


102  QVtelindy 

chicken,  just  as  soon  as  I'm  having  fun  anywhere  she 
starts  to  run  away  and  I  have  to  get  up  and  spoil 
my  comfy." 

Cheeweety  was  a  tall,  awkward,  moulting,  homely, 
nondescript,  thin,  gray  pullet  that  had  been  given  to 
Eulalia  in  its  deceptive  younger  days  of  fluffy,  yellow 
prettiness. 

Cheeweety  had  a  long  neck,  a  large  head  and  an 
absurd  amazed  expression.  To  that  exasperating, 
projectile-like  neck-motion,  common  to  all  hens,  Chee 
weety  added  a  strange  sea-going  swaying  of  the  body. 
And,  except  for  her  impish  skill  in  eluding  pursuers, 
Cheeweety  had  no  sense  at  all. 

Melindy  always  looked  upon  her  with  disdain. 

"  Huh ! "  she  often  said,  "  dat  ole  big-haided 
chickum  sho'  is  stupid,  I  tell  you.  Dey's  lots  ob 
room  in  her  haid  fo'  good-sized  brains  dat  ain't 
dar." 

"  'Tain't  dess  'cause  she's  a  chicken  dat  she's  so 
plum'  stupid,"  Melindy  explained.  "  Some  birds  is 
smarter  den  folks.  I  doesn'  mean  Polly.  We  all 
knows  what  dat  ole  witchy  Pol-parrot  is  ;  " —  Melindy 
lowered  her  voice  in  awe, —  but  look  at  de  crows !  A 
farmer  had  a  crow  could  go  anywheres  wif  a  letter. 
You  tell  him  de  number  an'  he  could  go  anywheres 
you  tell  him.  An'  Remus  an'  Ramus  use-teh  had  a 
buzzard  could  surprise  you  any  time.  Dat  buzzard 
could  go  fro'  motions  lots  quicker'n  Remus  an' 
Ramus  could.  When  dat-ar  bird  stood  up  in  a  row 
'tween  ma  dear  Remus  an'  Ramus,  de  whole  three  ob 


Fools'  Gold  108 

dem  twistin'  dey  haids  on  delr  long  necks,  dis-er  way 
an'  dat-er  way,  de  way  dey  does,  'mos'  any  school 
teacher  would  of  choosed  de  buzzard. 

"  An'  s'pose  he  did  bit  me !  I  doan'  hole  him  no 
hate  fo'  dat.  What  claim  is  I  got  teh  go  pokin'  out 
ma  hand  teh  shake  hands  wif  dat  buzzard,  an'  me  a 
stranger  to  him? 

"  But  dat  Cheeweety !  Lands  deliver  us  fum  dat 
chickum ! " 

But  Eulalia  was  loyal  to  her  unresponsive  pet  and 
grieved  sorely  when  she  could  not  find  her. 

"  Law,  chile !  Is  dat-ar  bird  gone  got  losted 
agin?  "  asked  sympathetic  Mammy. 

"  Oh,  Mammy  dear,  I'm  afraid  so.  We  finded  her 
twice  this  morning ;  once  in  the  pansy-bed, —  and 
Jacques  was  very  cross, —  and  once  in  the  kitchen  in 
the  pudding  bowl, —  and  Suky  nearly  made  me  cry 
about  it,  Mammy.  Oh-h!  Here's  my  Cheeweety 
now ! " 

A  great  squawking  was  heard  amid  wild  shouts  of 
derision,  as  a  very  forlorn  and  draggled  Cheeweety 
appeared,  dripping  and  sticky,  followed  by  Eustace, 
Peter  and  Melindy,  doubled  up  and  screaming  with 
mirth. 

The  boys  were  speechless  for  laughter,  and  by  ne 
cessity  content  to  point  at  the  poor  pullet  and  clap 
their  thighs  joyfully. 

But  Melindy,  seeing  Eulalia's  distressful  expres 
sion,  managed  to  gasp,  "  She's  —  all  —  right  — 
Missy  Euly.  She's  —  on'y  —  done  fell  —  in  —  de 


104  Melindy 

—  molasses  barrel.  Whoop !  "  added  Melindy,  un 
able  to  control  her  enjoyment. 

The  angry  bird  found  refuge  in  the  lap  of  the 
Baby,  who  yelled  for  a  second,  but  immediately 
solaced  himself  with  the  sweet  syrup  that  covered  his 
face  and  frock. 

"  Go'  'way !  "  cried  Mammy,  in  a  rage.  "  Git  off'n 
ma  Baby,  chickum!  Come  'long,  'Lalia.  Fotch  her 
in  de  back  yard.  We'll  wash  her  off,  underneaf  de 
water-faucet.  An'  den  I'll  hab  teh  tek  dis  chile  up 
stairs  an'  bathe  him." 

"  Funny  how  Cheeweety  loves  the  baby,"  sighed 
Eulalia.  "  She  never  comes  to  me,  unless  I  drag  her." 

"  Is  you  j  ealous  ob  de  Baby  or  on'y  pitying  him  ?  " 
asked  Melindy.  "  Dat-ar  pullet  could  hate  me  lak  fire 
hates  water  an'  dere  wouldn't  be  a  crumb  ob  loving 
gone  teh  waste  between  us. 

"  But  she  sho'  is  onfortunate.  Ef  de  best  chickum- 
food  fell  down  from  de  sky,  dat  bird'd  hab  a  sore 
throat  an'  couldn't  swaller." 

As  the  sticky  chicken,  the  sticky  baby  and  their 
respective  guardians  disappeared  behind  the  house, 
Melindy  and  the  boys,  still  laughing  at  intervals,  sat 
down  on  the  grass  beneath  the  pomegranate  tree. 

"  Go  on,  Melindy,"  said  Eustace ;  "  tell  us  more 
about  finding  buried  treasure." 

"  Well,  li'l  Marse  Eustace,  I  am'  nebber  -found  no 
buried  treasure  myse'f.  I  was  born  teh  be  rich,  but 
somehow  it  done  slipped  back  on  me.  But  I  know 
how  it  kin  be  found  ef  dey  is  any.  You  'member  dat, 


Fools'  Gold  105 

white  man  dat  done  come  'round  teh  C'lina  Dinah  an' 
say  he  was  a  census  taker?  " 

"  Yes,  Melindy.  And  Dinah  said  to  go  away  be 
cause  she  needed  all  her  senses  to  do  her  work  with  ?  " 
laughed  Peter. 

"Yassir,  li'l  Marse  Peter,  dat's  de  very  man. 
Well,  he  found  a  pot  ob  gold  by  conjurin',  dey  tell 
me,  an'  done  had  it  all  put  inteh  his  teeth.  Ain'  you 
noticed  what  a  lot  ob  gold  he's  got  in  his  teeth  ?  " 

"  Oh !  Melindy !  "  expostulated  Eustace,  "  the  den 
tists  have  that  gold." 

"  Sho'ly  dey  does.  Sho'ly  dey  has  it.  But  whar 
dey  done  got  it?  Tell  me  dat  now,  li'l  Marse  Eus 
tace  ! " 

Eustace  did  not  know  and  was  too  eager  for  the 
story  to  waste  time  in  debate.  He  drew  up  his  knees 
and  clasped  his  hands  about  them.  Peter  lay  on  the 
grass  and  dug  his  elbows  in  the  springing  turf  to 
make  a  little  hand-shelf  for  his  chin.  Melindy 
beamed  upon  these  attentive  listeners. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  de  wise  ole  people,  dey  be 
lieves  in  diggin9  f o'  money." 

"  Pirates'  money?  "  asked  Peter,  "  Lafitte's  money, 
down  on  Barataria  Bay?  I  know  a  boy  who  digs 
there  every  summer  when  he  goes  to  the  bay  with  his 
folks." 

"  Never  finds  anything,  though,"  added  Eustace. 

"  Da's  'cause  he  doan'  know  how  teh  go  'bout  it." 

"How,  then?" 

"  Wait,  wait,  boy.     You'se  in  'most  es  big  a  hurry 


100  Melindy 

es  de  grocer's  boy  'round  Christmas  time.  I'se 
comin*  teh  dat  part. 

"  Dey's  heaps  mo'  money  buried  around  in  de 
groun'  dan  anybody  knows.  In  de  ole  days,  dey 
didn'  hab  no  banks,  Sis  Suky  says, —  in  de  times  'way 
back  before  de  war.  People  all  had  deir  money  in 
big  iron  pots  an'  buried  'em  in  de  groun'. 

"  So,  ob  co'se,  dey's  lots  of  it  dar  now,  whar 
folkses.  done  died  an'  ain'  told  nobody  whar  dey  put 
it." 

"  Well,  how  do  you  find  it?     Just  dig?  " 

"  Co'se  not.  You  couldn't  go  'round  diggin'  up 
de  whole  worl'  lak  dat,  could  yeh?  You  jess  goes 
along  till  you  finds  a  empty  place  whar  looks  lak  rich 
folks  might  ob  lived  dar.  Den  you  buys  a  conjurin' 
rod  —  dat's  a  li'l  iron  rod  dat  witch-curers  and  hoo 
doo-doctors  sells  —  or  you  finds  a  conjurin'  reed  in 
de  swamps.  Dat's  a  long,  pointed  reed  wif  a  hole  in 
it. 

"  Den  you  walks  around  an'  holds  out  yo'  rod  or 
yo'  reed  an'  puts  it  down  on  de  grass  hyah  an'  dar. 

"  An'  bimeby  you'll  see  de  grass  an'  de  bushes 
tremble.  An'  wherever  dey  trembles,  right  dar  is  de 
money!  Jess  dig  lak  mad. 

"  On'y  —  de  whole  time  while  you's  a-diggin',  or 
any  time  atter  de  groun'  done  trembled,  doan'  you 
talk  one  word.  'Cause,  ef  you  does,  de  money'll  jess 
slide  away  an'  glide  away  under  de  groun'  an*  go 
teh  some  yuther  place ;  an'  you  cayn't  nebber  find  it 


Fools'  Gold  107 

"  'Tain't  no  good,  yo'  diggin'  atter  you  done  spoke. 
Once,  up  on  a  plantation,  Sis  Suky  woke  up  an' 
some  folks  had  dug  up  a  well  outside  her  window,  in 
de  night.  But  dey  nebber  got  a  penny,  'cause  a 
muskeeter  come  an'  bit  'em  an'  dey  said  '  Shoo ! ' : 

"  And  if  you  find  the  money,  is  it  yours  ?     I  mean, 

—  ought  it  to  be  ?  "  asked  conscientious  Peter. 
"Ob  co'se!     Ain't  you  found  it?     What  good  it 

gwine  do  anybody,  layin'  in  de  groun'?  On'y  you 
got  teh  wash  it  in  vinegar  teh  clean  it,  befo'  you  try 
teh  spend  any  ob  it.  Ef  you  doan',  it'll  fly  away 
fro'  de  air  right  smaht." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  that,"  said  Eustace,  smiling  quiz 
zically.  "  I've  often  heard  grown-ups  say  '  Money 
flies  ! ', —  but  I  thought  that  they  meant  something 
different." 

"  Melindy,"  pursued  Eustace,  "  did  you  ever  know 
any  one  —  truly  to  know,  your  very  own  self  —  that 
looked  for  treasure  with  rods  or  reeds  ?  " 

"  Yassir.  An'  you  did  too.  Jacques,  our  own 
gardener,  is  got  a  reed.  I  done  saw  lots  ob  folks 
hunt  wif  'em.  So !  " 

"  But,  Melindy," —  Eustace's  mind  was  judicial, — 
"  did  you  ever  know  —  to  really  know,  you  know 

—  anybody  to  -find  any  treasure  ?  " 

"Marse  Eustace,  you  sho'  is  pertickler.  Ain't 
you  got  no  confidence  in  nothin'f  You'se  one  ob 
dese  hyeah  chilluns  dat  ef  you  slips  a  candy  in  deir 
moufs,  dey  takes  it  right  out  an'  looks  at  it  teh  be 
shore  dat  dey's  really  got  it." 


108  Melindy 

"  But  did  they  ever  find  any  treasure, —  anybody 
you  know,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  No,  sah, — 'cause  some  fool  nigger  alluz  done 
forgot  an'  talked  an'  de  money  alluz  runned  away. 
But  Jacques  is  done  been  near  enough  to  it  teh  hyear 
it  rattle ! " 

66  How  could  it  move,  do  you  suppose?  " 

"  Dunno !  Jacques  knew  a  woman  come  to  a  plan 
tation  teh  help  pick  cotton.  An'  she  planted  some 
ob  her  own  money  under  a  tree.  An'  when  she  come 
teh  git  it,  it'd  done  moved." 

"  Do  you  think,  Melindy,"  Eustace  asked,  "  that 
Jacques  would  let  us  see  his  conjuring  reed?  " 

Melindy  leaned  forward,  her  eyes  glowing  and  her 
lips  parted  with  excitement.  This  was  the  dramatic 
moment  for  which  she  had  been  planning. 

"  Marse  Peter  an'  Marse  Eustace,"  she  said  in  a 
vibrant  whisper,  "  Jacques  done  said  we-uns  could 
borrer  his  conjurin'  reed  and  go  hunt  fo'  treasure 
any  time  we  ask  'im  f  o'  it !  " 

The  boys  were  at  once  as  excited  as  she.  Peter 
had  his  doubts  as  to  the  efficacy  of  magic  wands,  and 
Eustace  had  no  doubts  as  to  their  inefficacy, —  both 
having  frequently  been  warned  against  the  negro 
superstitions.  But,  for  the  purpose  of  the  game,  they 
were  willing, —  with  childhood's  total  surrender  to 
the  imagination  —  to  believe  in  the  formula  abso^- 
lutely. 

"  Let's  go  now!  "  they  cried. 

"  You  run  ask  Jacques  for  the  reed  and  Eustace 


Fools'  Gold  109 

can  find  Eulalia  and  I'll  ask  Mammy  if  we  may  go ; 
: — Mother  and  Cousin  Nathalie  are  out  this  morn 
ing,"  proposed  Peter. 

"  Where  could  we  hunt?  "  asked  Eustace. 

"  How  'bout  ole  Marse  Mandeville's  big  back  lot?  " 

Trust  Melindy  for  finding  the  proper  stage  set 
ting  !  That  was  the  right  place,  exactly  right, —  but 
dared  they?  Where  in  the  prosperous,  beautiful 
neighborhood  of  broad,  cordial  homes  and  cultivated 
flowering  gardens  could  buried  treasure  be  but  there, 
at  queer  old  Mr.  Mandeville's?  If  they  but  dared! 

Around  a  corner  and  two  blocks  away,  rose  his 
dull  ochre  house,  its  shabby  porches  seemingly  held 
together  by  the  wild  tangle  of  uncared-for  rose  and 
honeysuckle  vines. 

The  scanty  grass  between  the  house  and  the  street 
was  darkened  by  the  shadows  of  two  great,  handsome, 
moss-covered  live-oaks.  Trailing  moss,  so  graceful, 
light  and  lovely  in  the  children's  own  bright  garden, 
seemed  to  swing  here  wraithlike  and  forlorn. 

Back  of  the  house  stood  a  vast  abandoned  garden, 
grown  high  with  grass  and  weeds,  and  known  to  the 
neighborhood  as  old  Mr.  Mandeville's  big  back  lot. 

Queer  old  Mr.  Mandeville  lived  here  with  his  antique 
English  butler,  as  silent  as  himself.  A  wealthy  man, 
son  of  an  old  historic  family,  his  seclusion  was  op 
tional  and  had  been  taken  amiss  by  the  neighbors 
whose  calls  he  had  brusquely  ignored. 

Mr.  Mandeville  was  a  student  and  lived  in  his 
library.  The  only  recent  communication  between  the 


110  Melindy 

dull  yellow  house  and  the  big  white  one  was  a  stiff 
little  note  threatening  Cheeweety's  life  if  she  ever 
made  her  way  again  into  those  distant  and  silent 
precincts. 

Knowing  her  varied  propensities,  nobody  had  dared 
inquire  just  what  form  of  mischief  her  presence  at 
Mr.  Mandeville's  had  taken. 

If  Peter,  in  asking  Mammy's  consent,  had  said, 
"  May  we  go  to  old  Mr.  Mandeville's  to  look  for 
treasure  ? "  her  answer  would  have  been  a  mighty 
negative. 

But  Peter  in  his  excitement  had  called  out,  "  Oh ! 
Mammy !  Mammy !  If  Jacques  lends  Melindy  his 
conjuring  reed,  may  we  hunt  for  buried  treasure?" 

And  Mammy,  never  dreaming  that  their  plan  in 
cluded  any  garden  but  their  own,  and  not  inquiring 
further, —  for  she  was  excited  too, —  replied,  "  Yas, 
chile;  yas,  chile.  Has  you  seen  dat  baby?  He's 
done  run  away  agin.  I  jess  got  fro'  washin'  him  and 
changin'  his  dress  and  lef  him  hyah  on  a  rug  on  de 
grass,  jess  as  peaceful  an*  quiet,  playin'  wif  he  rub 
ber  dolly.  Oh!  Massy  me!  Baby< — you,  Baby! 
Come  teh  Mammy !  " 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  look  for  him,  Mammy?  " 

"  No,  no.  Run  along.  I'll  find  him.  I  got  teh 
ax  Marse  George  teh  put  a  chain  on  dat  baby." 

Melindy  came  singing  down  the  walk,  waving  the 
precious  reed, —  a  long,  dried  rush,  slashed  in  the 
center  and  marked  with  pencil. 

Eustace  followed  calling,  "  'Lalia  doesn't  want  to 


Fools'  Gold  111 

come.  Cheeweety's  lost  again  and  she's  gone  down 
to  the  stable  to  look  for  her.  Would  the  conjuring 
reed  help  find  Cheeweety,  do  you  think,  Melindy?  " 

"  See  hyah,  honey.  Doan'  temp'  me  teh  destroy 
dis-ar  reed  ob  Jacques'!  No;  'cose  dis-yer  magic 
ain't  a-gwine  teh  condescend  teh  hunt  up  no  triflin' 
chickum.  Come  'long !  " 

Mammy  did  not  notice  their  absence  for  a  long 
time,  being  distracted  by  a  deeper  woe.  Baby  could 
not  be  found ! 

Every  nook  and  corner  of  the  garden  was  exam 
ined.  The  frightened  servants  were  dispatched 
throughout  the  immediate  neighborhood.  Poor 
Mammy  bravely  dared  to  search  even  the  lily  pond. 

The  pretty  "  feathery  "  head  and  the  high-step 
ping  boots  were  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"  I'se  been  mammying  fo'  mos'  fifty  years,"  sobbed 
the  good  old  nurse,  "  an'  I  ain'  nebber  los'  a  baby 
untwell  now.  We-all  got  teh  find  dat  chile ! " 

"  Shh !  Shh !  "  soothed  Suky.  "  He's  right  high, 
somewha's.  Us  will  find  him,  Mammy.  Maybe  he's 
wif  Missy  Euly.  Whar  is  Missy  Euly?  You  didn* 
leave  her  all  alone  in  de  stables,  Lewis,  did  yeh?  " 

"No  'ndeedy!  She  lef  de  stables  long  ago. 
Done  gone  'round  de  neighborhood  cryin'  an'  huntin* 
up  dat  no-'count  bird  she's  so  sot  on." 

"  Now,  lissen  at  dat,  Mammy,  honey.  You  hyeah 
dat?  I  reckon  Euly  done  took  Baby  wif  her  teh  hunt 
up  Cheeweety.  Dey'll  come  back  in  a  minute." 

Mammy  tried  hard  to  believe  it,  but  still  anxiously 


112  Melindy 

kept  up  the  search.  Of  a  sudden,  she  stopped  short 
in  terror  and  rubbed  her  eyes  like  one  in  a  horrid 
dream. 

"  Whar's  all  dem  chillun  ? "  she  called  out. 
"Whar's  Eustace  an'  Peter  and  Melindy  an'  all? 
Hab  somebody  done  hoodooed  all  dem  lambs  away?  " 

"  Ef  somebody  done  bewitched  'em,  it's  Melindy 
dat's  done  it,"  said  Suky.  "  Dey's  all  right,  Mammy, 
ef  dey's  wif  Melindy.  She  woan'  let  no  hahm  come 
to  'em.  But  hahm's  a-gwine-a  come  teh  her  when  I 
gits  her  home  agin." 

No  divination  warned  her  of  this  fate,  as,  hidden 
by  the  tall  weeds,  Melindy  and  the  boys  slipped 
through  a  slatless  aperture  in  the  fence  and  silently 
tracked  their  secret  path  through  Mr.  Mandeville's 
back  lot, —  the  little  leader  waving  the  conjuring 
reed  before  her. 

Occasionally  they  paused  for  a  breathless  survey 
of  the  rear  windows  of  the  house;  for  terror  of  Mr. 
Mandeville  lent  a  delicious  tang  to  the  adventure. 

"  He'll  be  glad  when  he  finds  de  money,  and  us  kin 
gib  him  some  ob  it,"  Melindy  had  said,  "  but  it's 
gen'ally  more  easier  teh  get  folks  teh  be  pleased  teh 
let  you  do  things  when  you's  done  succeeded  at  dem, 
dan  it  is  before  you  commence  teh  try." 

Again  and  again,  breathing  hard  in  suspense,  Me 
lindy  laid  the  reed  lightly  across  some  clump  of 
bushes.  Then  the  boys  crowded  close  about  her, 
watching  the  bush  to  see  if  it  trembled,  afraid  to 
speak  for  fear  that  it  had.  For  Melindy's  perfect 


Fools'  Gold  113 

faith  in  the  conjuring  reed  had  communicated  itself 
to  her  followers. 

She  pointed  to  a  hopeful-looking  little  hollow,  be 
hind  a  line  of  willows  and  descended  toward  it,  her 
long  reed  pointing  the  way, —  pointing  straight  into 
the  astonished  countenance  of  Mr.  Mandeville  him 
self! 

"  What  on  earth  — !  "  he  exclaimed.  He  had  been 
sitting  in  the  long  grass,  reading. 

Peter  and  Eustace,  in  unison,  said  timidly,  "  Beg 
pardon,  sir !  "  and  dared  no  more. 

"  Dat  reed  sho'  trembled  den,"  related  Melindy 
afterwards,  "  'cause  ma  hand  jess  couldn'  hold  it 
straight.  Didn'  need  no  conjurer  teh  tell  dat  I  was 
scared  teh  death." 

But  she  found  her  tongue,  as  always. 

"  Please,  sah,  'scuse  us,  Marse  Mandeville,"  she 
said  with  her  most  winsome  smile.  "  Us  chilluns 
didn'  know  you  wuz  readin'  in  de  gyarden.  We-uns 
thought  dis-ar  was  a  let-alone  gyarden.  We  come 
hyeah  teh  find  some  buried  treasure." 

"  So  there  are  children  left  in  the  world  nowa 
days  ! "  muttered  Mr.  Mandeville  to  himself. 

He  did  not  look  very  dreadful;  only  a  little  shy 
and  perplexed. 

He  had  been  reading  Mungo  Park,  when  they 
disturbed  him,  and  did  not  disdain  adventure. 

"  What  are  your  names  ?  "  he  asked,  as  "  grown 
people "  always  do  to  children,  when  at  a  conver 
sational  disadvantage  with  them.  And  when  he  had 


114  Melindy 

heard,  "  H'm !  Melinda !  Quite  romantic, —  suita 
ble  to  the  occasion.  And  you,  Peter, —  is  that 
chicken  yours  ?  " 

No  need  to  ask,  "What  chicken?"  "That 
chicken,"  expressed  in  that  tone  of  scorn,  could  indi 
cate  only  Cheeweety.  Their  hearts  sank  heavily. 

"  My  sister's,  sir.  We  were  sorry  Cheeweety  an 
noyed  you." 

"  What  did  she  do,  sir?  "  asked  Eustace. 

"  Only  made  muddy  tracks  over  a  mediaeval  manu 
script, —  but  you  wouldn't  know  the  harm  in  that,  of 
course." 

"  Ain'  dat  Cheeweety  all  over?  "  exclaimed  Me 
lindy.  "  We-uns  won't  ax  you  teh  excuse  Chee 
weety,  Marse  Mandeville,  'cause  dat  Cheeweety  don't 
cyare  a  whole  lot  whedder  folks  is  pleased  wif  her 
or  not.  She's  sort  o'  lak  de  measles, —  ain'  nebber 
quit  comin'  jess  because  she  ain'  wanted. 

"  But  please  excuse  us,  sah.  We  ain'  doin'  no 
hurt  teh  nothin'.  On'y  huntin'  fo'  buried  treasure. 
Is  you  ever  heard  tell  of  any  gold  been  hid  in  dis-ar 
gyarden,  Marse  Mandeville  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Mandeville. 

"Oh!" — the  children  jumped  with  surprise  and 
fascinated  expectation, — "  really  ?  " 

"  Fools'  gold ! "  said  Mr.  Mandeville,  in  a  dull, 
melancholy  tone,  looking  at  his  book  with  a  frown. 

"  Hab  anybody  ebber  looked  fo'  it,  sah?  "  asked 
Melindy  in  awe. 

"  Yes,  child.     Yes  —  often !  " 


Fools'  Gold  115 

"An'cayn'tdeyfindit?" 

"  I'm  afraid  not.     I  fear  not,  more  and  more." 

"  Kin  we  look,  sah.  An'  ef  we  finds  any  we'll  gib 
you  half  ob  it." 

Mr.  Mandeville  looked  at  her  and  smiled  as  if 
seeing  the  children  for  the  first  time. 

"  Surely  look.  Good  luck  to  you !  "  And  he  sat 
on  the  ground  again  and  opened  his  "  Mungo 
Park." 

"  We'll  wave  our  hats  ef  de  bush  trembles,"  Me- 
lindy  promised.  "  You  keep  a-lookin'  out.  'Cause 
we  mustn't  speak  a  word  or  de  gold  will  glide  away 
under  de  ground.  You  jess  keep  an  eye  on  us, 
please,  sah,  an'  come  when  we  waves  our  hats." 

Mungo  Park's  adventures  had  never  so  far  failed 
to  hold  Mr.  Mandeville's  attention.  Willy  nilly,  he 
kept  an  eye  on  the  youngsters.  Strangely,  their 
imaginary  hazards  seemed  real  to  him,  and  the  thrill 
ing  real  experiences  of  the  writer,  pale  and  uncon 
vincing. 

With  brightening  eyes  he  watched  their  hats  mov 
ing  stealthily  just  above  the  weeds  and  grasses,  and 
felt  a  gentle  quickening  of  the  pulse  in  sympathy 
with  their  excitement,  at  the  occasional  halts  when 
the  reed  was  placed  so  carefully  upon  the  foliage. 

Patiently  the  children  kept  up  the  search.  Bush 
after  bush  was  tried,  clump  of  grass  after  clump. 
But,  always,  the  reed  lay  still  in  the  hot  and  breath 
less  sunlight  of  the  glowing  New  Orleans  noon. 

Mr.  Mandeville,  recluse  and  voluntary  exile  from 


116  Melindy 

society,  found  something  unexpectedly  pleasant  in 
the  children's  proximity,  in  the  magical  treasure-hunt 
going  on  in  his  own  garden,  and  hoped  that  their 
patience  would  last  long. 

He  had  neither  hope  nor  expectation  of  what 
really  happened,  however. 

Melindy  waved  her  hat. 

Up  went  Peter's,  then  Eustace's. 

The  three  stood  on  tiptoe,  their  wondering  eyes  and 
excited  faces  barely  showing  above  the  grasses. 

Mr.  Mandeville  rose  to  his  feet,  feeling  queerly 
excited  himself.  "  Mungo  Park  "  lay  open  on  the 
ground,  forgotten.  He  hurried  toward  the  children. 

Why !  It  could  not  be  a  fact, —  and  yet  the  facts 
seemed  to  forbid  their  denial;  the  bush  on  which  the 
reed  lay  was  trembling.  It  was  a  stiff  and  bushy  old 
spirea  and  did  not  sway  easily.  Yet  all  about  it  was 
quiet  and  the  old  spirea  trembled  of  itself! 

The  children,  half-frightened,  half-exultant, 
pressed  eager  fingers  on  their  parted  lips,  enjoining 
silence.  He  nodded  reassuringly. 

And  then  —  alas,  for  the  charm  that  depended 
upon  perfect  speechlessness,  alas,  for  the  hope  of 
treasure  trove !  —  two  words  were  clearly  spoken. 

One  was  bright  and  cheery;  one  was  injured  and 
belligerent. 

"'Lindy!"  was  the  first. 

"  Cluck !  "  was  the  second. 

.The  sounds  rose  from  the  ground,  the  mystic 
ground  beneath  the  spirea  bush,  in  the  shade  of  which 


Fools'  Gold  117 

sat  Baby  and  Cheeweety,  peaceably  digging  in  de 
lighted  companionship ! 

In  spite  of  their  disappointment,  the  children's 
laughter  burst  forth. 

Mr.  Mandeville  laughed  too, —  a  performance  so 
unusual  that  his  butler  ran  to  the  kitchen  door  in 
fright  to  see  what  ailed  him. 

"  Ah !  Which  will  you  give  me?  "  Mr.  Mandeville 
asked.  "  You  said  that  I  should  have  half  of  the 
treasure.  Which  half  shall  it  be, —  the  boy  or  the 
chicken  ?  " 

Peter  looked  frightened.  Eustace  bent  puzzled 
brows, —  here  was  some  joke,  but  not  a  clear  one. 
But  Melindy  answered,  dimpling: 

"  Oh  !  ho !  Marse  Mandeville,  dat  chickum  ain't  no 
treasure.  Us'll  let  you  hab  half  ob  our  baby." 

Mr.  Mandeville  had  laughed  that  day,  for  the  first 
time  in  long  ages,  it  seemed  to  him.  Now  he  did  a 
still  stranger  thing ;  he  felt  his  eyes  fill  with  tears. 

For  Melindy,  dramatically  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  had  picked  the  baby  up,  and  held  him  towards 
the  old  gentleman.  And  Baby  had  liked  him  at  first 
sight,  had  extended  chubby,  welcoming  arms  and 
gurgled,  «Up!  Up!  Up!" 

Mr.  Mandeville  took  him  to  his  heart. 

The  door-bell  rang.  He  gave  a  guilty  start,  as 
one  about  to  run  to  cover,  but  thought  better  of  it 
and  remained. 

"  He  jess  lubs  you,"  said  Melindy.  "  He  jess 
looks  at  you  lak  he  used  teh  do  at  his  bottle." 


118  Melindy 

"  Do  you  think  he  really  does?  "  asked  Mr.  Mande- 
ville  diffidently. 

Just  then  the  silent  butler  appeared,  showing  no 
trace  of  his  outraged  emotions  as  he  announced, 
"Another,  sir!" 

And  Eulalia,  made  brave  by  affection,  crying  piti 
fully,  came  straight  up  to  him. 

"  Somebody  saw  her  come  in ! "  she  sobbed.  "  I 
didn't  meant  to  let  her.  Oh,  did  you  make  Cheeweety 
dead?" 

"  No,  no,  honey !  No,  Miss  'Lalia,"  Melindy 
hastened  to  reassure  her.  "  She's  right  hyah  yet. 
Whar  is  dat  cayn't-stay-still  chickum?  " 

She  was  pecking  at  the  leaves  of  Mungo  Park! 

But  the  extraordinary  old  gentleman  only  smiled. 

"  Come  into  the  house  and  let  us  have  some 
lemonade  and  cake,"  he  invited. 

Forgetting  their  own  luncheon-hour,  the  children 
obeyed,  Eulalia  with  her  recovered  darling  in  her 
arms  and  queer  old  Mr.  Mandeville  carrying  the 
baby. 

They  enjoyed  their  goodies  in  the  dim  library  — 
the  children  had  never  dreamed  there  were  so  many 
books  in  the  world. 

Peter  examined  their  titles  without  delay  and 
found  one  shelf  all  of  the  same  story,  so  he  thought. 
Big  books,  little  books,  fat  books,  lean  books,  all 
bearing  the  one  label:  Homer. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  about  this,"  he  said. 


Fools'  Gold  119 

"Do  you?"  Their  host's  eyes  beamed.  "Well, 
sit  right  still  and  I  will  tell  you." 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  obligations  of  luncheon 
at  home  and  waiting,  anxious  Mammy  were  forgot 
ten,  while  the  children,  well-fed  upon  cake,  sat  in 
a  charmed  circle,  riding  with  the  "  wily  Ulysses  "  on 
the  "loudly-surging  sea"? 

When  they  thanked  him  at  parting,  Melindy  added 
prettily,  "  Dem  lovely  stories  wuz  real  true  gold  teh 
us." 

"  Fools'  gold ! "  said  Mr.  Mandeville,  and  asked 
them  to  come  again. 

On  the  way  homeward,  panic  and  remorse  over 
took  them.  The  luncheon-hour  had  long  passed. 
Mammy  did  not  know  where  they  were.  She  would 
be  so  uneasy!  They  would  be  punished! 

Melindy  tried  to  cheer  her  fellow-sinners. 

"  Come  'long,  chillun,"  said  she.  "  Doan'  cry  be 
fore  you's  hurted  or  you  won't  hab  nothin'  proper 
lef  teh  do  afterwards.  Come  'long,  now.  Dis-yer 
ole  Ulysses,  he  warn't  afeared  ob  nothin9." 

But  the  sight  of  Suky  waiting  at  the  gate  was 
not  soothing  to  guilty  consciences,  nor  was  her  threat 
to  "fix"  Melindy  "  f o'  leadin'  dem  chilluns  inteh 
mischief." 

Poor  Mammy,  more  forgiving,  forgot  her  spent 
anxiety  in  the  joy  of  seeing  them  all  safe  and  at 
home  again. 

Her  mistress  had  returned  and  the  row  of  little 


120  Melindy 

culprits  soon  stood  before  her.  They  were  almost 
as  eager  to  share  with  her  the  story  of  their  wonder 
ful  experience,  as  they  were  reluctant  to  be  blamed 
or  punished  for  their  sins. 

Miss  Carrie  heard  them  sympathetically,  with  her 
usual  true  intuition  into  the  thoughts  and  motives  of 
childhood. 

Her  inclination  to  treat  their  truancy  leniently 
changed  to  the  conviction  that  it  was  best  to  do 
so  when,  at  the  end  of  the  interesting  confession, 
Lewis  appeared  bearing  this  note  in  Mr.  Mande- 
ville's  clear,  small,  scholarly  handwriting: 

The  joys  of  life  I  called  "Fools'  Gold" 
Because  they  vanished  from  my  hand, 
Oh!  did  I  fail  to  understand  — 
The  hand,  perhaps,  too  weak  to  hold? 

In  scorn  I  left  the  joys  of  life 
To  live  with  heroes*  golden  dreams, 
Philosophers'  and  poets'  gleams, 
In  golden  leisure,  far  from  strife. 

That  glitter  fading  I  behold, 

It  palls  and  wearies  more  and  more, 

My  lonely  learning  I  deplore 

And  call  the  joys  of  thought,  "Fools'  Gold!" 

Real  riches  from  your  wondrous  store 
Crossed  my  impoverished  path  to-day. 
Be  generous,  Lady;  bid  them  stay 
To  teach  true  worth  of  life  and  lore! 

Miss  Carrie's  tender  eyes  grew  moist  as  she  gave 
the  note  to  Nathalie,  saying,  "  Who  would  have 


Fools'  Gold  121 

expected  this?  My  dear,  I  fear  we  have  been  most 
uncharitable  to  Mr.  Mandeville." 

But  even  her  sympathy  could  not  foresee  the 
changes  opening  to  Mr.  Mandeville  that  day,  nor 
know  how  bitterly  they  were  needed. 

Nathalie  read  the  verses  and  "  Oh,  Caroline !  "  she 
cried,  "  Poor,  lonely  old  gentleman !  We  must  let 
them  go  often.  And  the  children  enjoyed  him,  too, 
—  even  Cheeweety  and  the  Baby.  Didn't  you,  Peter? 
Peter!  What  are  you  thinking  so  hard?" 

For  Peter,  unheeding  her  question,  was  gazing  off 
pensively  out  of  the  window. 

"  *  Polu-Tduptos,9 "  he  quoted.  "It  does  sound 
just  like  the  surf!" 

"  We-chilluns  didn'  find  gold  wif  our  conjurin' 
reed,  but  we  sho'  did  find  gold  in  dem  stories,"  said 
Melindy. 

"  Fools'  gold !  "  sighed  Nathalie  tenderly,  "  fools' 
gold  —  revealed  to  none  but  those  who  believe  in 
magic ! " 

"  'Twas  me  done  led  dem  to  it,"  said  Melindy. 

"  And  are  led  thereto  by  love ! "  added  Nathalie. 


CHAPTER  IX 

STRICTLY  COMMERCIAL 

"Now,  Melindy,"  said  little  Eulalia,  bustling  out 
of  the  kitchen  door,  with  her  apron  full  of  bright- 
colored  bits  of  cloth,  "  Mother  says  we  may  play 
sand-store,  if  we  can  keep  friendly  with  the  Flem- 
mingses  children  and  not  have  so  many  discusses 
about  everything.  Do  you  think  we  can  do  it  with 
out  making  discusses,  Melindy?  " 

Melindy  looked  up  from  her  little  wheelbarrow 
laden  with  white  beach  sand. 

"  H'm,  Missy,"  she  replied,  "  we-uns  kin  promise 
not  teh  make  no  fusses,  'cause  you  an'  me,  we's  not 
fussers,  Missy  'Lalia.  But  we  jess  cay  n't  promise 
dat  dem  air  Flemmingses  won't  kick  up  ructions. 
'Cause  dey  suttinly  is  mighty  fond  ob  rarin'  an' 
tearin',  dem  Flemmingses  is.  I  done  passed  by  deir 
house,  a  week  ago,  come  Wednesday,  an'  I  smole  a 
real  pleasant  smile  at  dat-ar  littlest  Flemming,  dat 
Missy  Rosy.  But  'tain't  done  a  mite  of  good.  Her 
feelin's  war  still  hurted.  Some  f olkses  gits  a  heap  ob 
enjoyment  out  of  havin'  deir  feelin's  hurted." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  Rosy's  feelings. 
Only  it  was  a  bent  pin,  Melindy,  and  the  sand  was 
made  dark  with  common  black  ink." 

122 


Strictly  Commercial  123 

Playing  sand-store  is  an  important  element  of 
child-life  in  New  Orleans.  The  little  merchants  buy 
white  sand,  or  entice  willing  parents  to  order  it  for 
them.  Then  follows  the  dear  joy  of  transforming 
its  whiteness  into  the  crude  tones  loveliest  to  child 
hood  the  world  over. 

The  methods  of  dyeing  are  primitive.  Bags  made 
of  gaudy  fabrics  are  filled  with  sand  and  boiled 
until  the  bright  dyes  penetrate  the  contents.  Bluing 
from  the  laundry  is  poured  over  saucerfuls  of  sand. 
Beet  juice  makes  delightful  pinks  and  crimsons. 
The  purple  of  grape  skins,  the  corals  of  waxberries, 
the  yellows  that  hide  in  tomato  parings,  the  delicate 
green  water  in  which  spinach  has  been  cooked,  the 
surpassing  scarlet  from  a  few  drops  of  red  ink  — 
ah!  but  New  Orleans  children  know  what  beauty 
comes  to  simple  sand  through  these ! 

No  subsequent  possessions  cause  more  envy  of 
the  fortunate  than  is  directed  toward  that  child  who 
owns  a  discarded  box  of  water-color  paints. 

Ambition  does  not  halt  at  mere  solid  tones  but 
blends  white  sand  and  the  tinted  product  into  the 
most  wonderful  "  pepper  and  salt "  or  variegated 
combinations. 

Melindy  and  Eulalia  set  out  their  wares  at  the 
garden  gate,  on  a  small  table  and  overturned  boxes 
covered  with  threadbare  napkins  and  tissue  paper. 
Cardboard  boxes  full  of  the  precious,  gorgeous  sands, 
brown  paper  cornucopias  for  wrapping  customers' 


124  Melin'dy 

purchases,  little  tin  scoops  and  measures  were  spread 
grandly  upon.  them. 

In  the  distance  under  the  mulberry  tree  sat  the 
willing  helpers,  Remus  and  Ramus,  turning  out  the 
colored  sand  from  the  little  tin  pots  in  which  it  had 
been  made,  into  the  little  tin  dishes  in  which  it  was 
to  be  offered  for  sale. 

The  Twins  had  splattered  their  faces  and  splashed 
their  hands  with  color  until  they  looked  like  Indians 
on  the  warpath.  But  fear  of  careful,  C'lina  Dinah, 
their  mother,  had  caused  them  to  protect  their  im 
maculate,  starchy  garments.  Each  wore  an  over- 
covering  made  of  sacking  from  the  stable, —  oat-bags 
with  arms  and  neck  cut  through.  Therefore  Me- 
lindy  and  Eulalia  were  compelled,  by  Mammy's 
order,  to  keep  them  in  the  background  as  unornamen- 
tal  to  the  garden. 

"We's  sorry,  Twinses,"  apologized  Melindy, 
"  'cause  you-all  is  orful  good  teh  he'p  us,  you  sho'  is. 
But  white  folks  doan'  lak  teh  see  dem  sackin'  aprons 
you-all  done  inventioned.  'Tain't  dat  you  doesn'  look 
pritty.  It's  dess  dat  you  looks  so  sort  o'  diffrunt." 

The  accommodating  Twinses  were  content  to  serve 
unseen,  consoling  themselves  with  mulberries  in  the 
intervals  of  labor. 

At  the  gate,  Melindy  and  Eulalia  took  their  seats 
behind  their  "  counter."  On  the  ground  between  the 
merchants*  tiny  chairs,  was  placed  the  "  cash-box  " 
for  receiving  pins, —  the  currency  of  the  trade. 

Tradition  decrees  that  one  scoopful  of  plain  -color, 


Strictly  Commercial  125 

two  of  white,  half  a  scoopful  of  blend  or  some  supe 
rior  shading  shall  be  given  for  a  pin. 

Behind  the  rose-trellis  back  of  them,  Eulalia  and 
Melindy  kept  their  reserve  stock  in  their  small  wheel 
barrow. 

They  were  plutocrats  on  this  day.  For  Euly  had 
found  in  the  sewing  room  a  whole  big  bagful  of  col 
ored  scraps,  of  which  all  the  dyes  were  aniline  and 
"  came  off  "  easily.  In  addition  to  this  great  wealth, 
a  hogshead  of  white  beach  sand  had  been  sent  to  her 
from  her  father's  country  place  on  the  shore  of  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico. 

Of  this  store,  Eulalia,  with  characteristic  amiabil 
ity,  gave  lavishly  to  those  who  had  to  depend  for 
supplies  upon  the  scouring  sand  sold  by  the  grocer. 

Therefore,  she  felt  the  sharp  tooth  of  ingratitude 
as  well  as  the  sting  of  slandered  innocence,  when  en 
vious  Rosa  Flemming  falsely  accused  her  of  those 
improper  business  practices  of  which  she  herself  was 
notoriously  guilty. 

"  Doan'  you  worry  about  dat-ar  Rosy,  honey," 
consoled  Melindy.  "  Ef  she  tries  teh  fuss  an'  quar'l, 
we'll  jess  say  real  sweet  an'  quiet, — *  Let  dogs  de 
light  teh  bark  an'  bite.'  Ma  teacher  teached  me  dat, 
an'  it  alluz  makes  eve'ybody  so  mad  dat  dey  goes 
home  right  quick." 

"  Mother  said  we  should  be  "kind  to  her,"  sighed 
Eulalia. 

"  Yas'm.  We  jess  got  teh  smirk  an'  smile  an'  keep 
peaceable.  But  ef  dat  li'l  sinner  comes  'round  hyeah 


126  Melindy 

slam-bangin'  her  tongue  'bout  you,  honey  lamb, 
seems  teh  me  lak  I  kin  keep  de  peace  better  inside  de 
house  until  she's  done  gone." 

Euly  nodded  gravely.  She  knew  Melindy's  im 
pulsive  temperament. 

"  Yas,  indeedy.  De  bes'  way  teh  truly  lub  some 
people  is  teh  keep  'em  at  a  distance,"  added  Melindy. 

"  There,"  said  Eulalia,  putting  a  bunch  of  pink 
roses  on  the  table,  "  isn't  this  a  beautiful  store  ?  And 
I  never  saw  anything  as  lovely  and  delessis  —  lussus 
—  delicious  as  that  gold-and-silver  mixture.  It  was 
just  dear  of  Cousin  Nathalie  to  save  us  those  little 
pieces  of  gold  and  silver  paint.  I  know  it  will  make 
a  sensetation." 

"  Sensetation  ?  "  asked  Melindy  doubtfully. 

"Well,"  blushingly  replied  Euly,  who  was  learn 
ing  the  charm  of  language,  "  maybe  that  is  not  es- 
sackly  right.  But  you  know  what  I  mean,  Melindy." 

"  Um-um,  yas'm.  An'  dat's  all  any  word  kin  be 
expected  to  do,  Missy  dear.  Let's  ring  de  bell,  now, 
and  let  de  neighbors  know  we  is  ready.  Huh! 
Hyeah  comes  dat  Miss  Rosy  right  now." 

"  Oh !  please  stay,  Melindy !  Oh !  Dear  me !  I 
hope  she  won't  fuss.  Oh !  Good  morning,  Rosa !  " 

Rosa  Flemming  was  a  tawny-haired,  spindly  little 
girl,  with  snapping  black  eyes  and  a  sharp  little  nose 
full  of  freckles. 

She  was  in  a  conciliatory  mood  this  morning  and 
looking  for  bargains.  For  she  had  suffered  business 
reverses.  A  pailful  of  good  sand  had  been  spoiled 


Strictly  Commercial  127 

in  the  unsuccessful  experiment  of  using  tomato  catsup 
as  a  dyestuff,  and  maternal  generosity,  departing  for 
the  shops  in  a  combined  huff  and  hurry,  had  neg 
lected  to  replenish  with  pins  the  depleted  exchequer. 

"  My,  but  that  gold-and-silver  sand  is  pretty  1 
How  do  you  sell  it  ?  I  have  only  ten  pins  —  Mother 
forgot  to  give  me  more  and  she  won't  let  me  take 
them  without  asking.  Give  me  ten  pins'  worth  of  the 
gold-and-silver. " 

Poor  Eulalia !  She  was  loth  to  part  with  so  much 
of  her  chief  pride  and  treasure  to  one  customer  and 
that  one  the  first  to  call !  But  she  had  promised  not 
to  be  hostile  to  Rosa.  So  while  her  lip  trembled, — 
Eulalia's  mouth  still  retained  its  baby,  blossomy  ten 
derness  —  she  reluctantly  scooped  out  more  than  half 
of  the  shimmering  grains  and  gave  them  to  Rosa. 

Melindy  shut  her  lips  tightly  and  scrutinized 
Rosa's  pins  with  care. 

Rosa  bristled. 

"  Those  pins  are  straight  and  new,  I'd  have  you 
know,  Melindy ! "  she  said  sharply. 

"  So  dey  is ;  so  dey  is.  Dat's  why  you  ought  not 
to  care  ef  I  look  at  dem  so  close.  So  dey  is,  all 
straight  an'  new  excep'  dis-yer  bow-legged  one,  an' 
we'll  overlook  him  'cause  he's  had  troubles  enough. 
Good-by,  Missy  Rosy!  —  Huh!"  Melindy  continued, 
sotto  voce,  as  their  patron  departed.  "  Ma  pleas 
antness  war  jess  about  going  under  water  fo*  de 
third  time.  It's  a  blessin'  Miss  Rosy  didn't  stay  no 
longer." 


128  Melindy 

Rosa  did  not  remain  because  her  shrewd  little  brain 
was  busy  with  an  idea.  Rosa  was  born  for  high 
finance.  She  became  for  the  time  an  itinerant  trades 
woman,  went  from  sand  store  to  sand  store  and  sold 
a  great  part  of  the  gold  and  silver  treasure  for 
twice  the  number  of  pins  it  had  cost  her.  The  pro 
ceeds  she  applied  to  purchasing  the  bright  particular 
glory  of  another  stand.  This  system  she  continued 
until  she  owned  "  the  best  the  market  afforded," 
which  she  combined  into  beauties  beyond  the  dreams 
of  avarice.  Her  consequent  sand-shop  was  the  last 
word  in  brilliancy  and  success.  All  on  a  primary 
capital  of  ten  pins,  one  of  them  "  bow-legged  " ! 

The  complete  legitimate  business  that  Eulalia  and 
Melindy  had  prepared  with  such  great  labor  sank  into 
insignificance.  The  disgruntled  proprietors  were 
ready  to  weep  with  perplexed  vexation.  Scarcely 
any  one  came  to  them.  All  crowded  about  the  young 
manipulator  of  finance  and  mistress  of  industry. 

"  Doesn't  seem  teh  me  dat  Miss  Eulaly  an'  Me 
lindy  is  makin'  out  very  good  wif  dey  store,"  said 
Remus  in  the  background  to  her  brother.  "  Does 
you  think  dey  is,  Ramus  ?  " 

"  Huh !  "  answered  Ramus  grumpily,  "  I  dunno. 
I  doan*  think  nothin'.  What's  de  use  ob  me  thinkin' 
when  I  ain't  got-teh  think  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  doan'  see  nobody  comin'  teh  buy,  does 
you,  Ramus?  " 

"  Looky  hyah,  gal !  You  doesn'  see  dem,  does 
yeh?  "  Ramus  repeated  the  question.  "  Well,  how- 


Strictly  Commercial  129 

come  I  got  better  sight  den  you  is?  Ef  you  doan' 
see,  I  doan'  see,  an'  ef  you-'n-I  doan'  see,  den  dey 
am'  seeable.  An'  I  doan'  want-a  be  bothered  lookin' 
fo'  nobody  whar  I  doan'  see.  I'se  got  mos'  'nough 
trouble  now,  tellin'  Maw  an'  Teacher  an'  ev'body  else 
all  'bout  what  I  does  see." 

"I'm  very  unhappy,  Melindy,"  Eulalia  was  say 
ing.  "  It's  such  a  pretty  sand-store !  I  wish  I'd 
thought  not  to  put  all  the  gold  and  silver  out  on  the 
table!" 

"  Us  folks  shorely  must  learn  teh  take  our  second 
thoughts  first,  'cause  dey  is  gin'ally  more  betterer," 
agreed  Melindy. 

"  Nebber  min',  honey,"  she  continued  comfort 
ingly,  "  dat  ole  Missy  Rosy'll  overreach  herse'f  yit. 
We-all  'ill  git  de  customers  hyah  atter  all.  I  fore- 
speak  dese  words  an'  you'll  remember  'em ! " 

Gerald  Haviland  came  by  on  his  way  to  the  car 
and  stopped  at  the  gate  for  a  moment,  as  was  his 
matinal  custom,  to  smell  the  pungent,  invigorating 
aroma  of  roses  that  hung  over  the  place, —  like  a 
tangible  blessing,  the  General  used  to  say. 

"  Hullo ! "  he  cried,  spying  the  patient  young 
shopkeepers.  "  Business  doesn't  seem  very  brisk. 
Why  don't  you  advertise  ?  " 

"What  d'ye  mean, —  advertise?"  demanded  Eu 
lalia. 

"  Will  dat  do  any  good,  Marse  Gerry?  How  does 
you  work  it,  please,  sah,  boss? "  asked  her  more 
practical  assistant. 


130  Melindy 

Gerald  put  a  pink  rose  in  his  buttonhole,  thinking 
of  its  clear  resemblance  to  the  pinky,  baby  beauty 
of  Eulalia's  upturned  face,  and  twinkled  smiles  down 
upon  them. 

Encouraged  by  his  manner,  Melindy  told  her  story 
of  the  morning's  failure. 

"  An'  you  ain't  got  no  notion  how  we-uns  done 
worked  ober  dis-yer  sand,  Marse  Gerry.  We  pretty 
near  biled  ourselves  and  Miss  Euly  done  got  her  bes' 
pink  apron  stained,  an'  I  dropped  Sis  Suky's  big 
kitchen  spoon  in  de  hogshead  of  sand  an'  it  sinked 
'way  down  teh  de  middle,  wif  us  a  turnin'  de  sand 
up  so.  An'  Sis  made  me  go  dig  in  atter  it  an'  I 
tried  teh  go  in  wif  ma  heels  f  o'most  an'  dat  didn'  do. 
So  den  I  tried  a-gwine  in  wif  ma  head  fo'most  an* 
I  nearly  got  drownded  an'  li'l  Marse  Pete  an'  li'l 
Marse  Eustace  an'  Missy  'Lalia  had  teh  drag  me  out 
by  ma  feetses.  An'  den  dis-yer  ole  Rosy  Flemming 
to  come  hoodooin'  our  buyerses  away ! " 

Gerald,  the  architect,  had  a  large  sketching  pad 
under  his  arm.  He  laughingly  sat  on  the  carriage- 
block  and  began  to  move  his  pencil  busily,  the  chil 
dren  watching  in  wonder. 

"There!"  he  called,  "we'll  test  the  power  of 
modern  business  methods.  Let's  see.  I  almost  al 
ways  have  some  thumb-tacks  in  my  pocket.  Ah ! " 

And  he  fastened  to  the  fence  a  placard : 

NEW  COLORS 

A  WHOLE  LOT  OF  EACH 

MAKE  YOUR  OWN  MIXTURES 

IT'S  MUCH  MORE  FUN. 


Strictly  Commercial  131 

"  Now,  when  some  young  person  intellectually  ad 
vanced  enough  to  read,  elucidates  that  announce 
ment  to  an  admiring  public,  there  ought  to  be  a 
change  in  your  prospects,"  he  said  as  he  left  them, — 
Eulalia  in  awe,  Melindy  in  ecstasy  at  the  string  of 
great  big  words. 

Soon,  indeed,  the  white  placard  attracted  attention. 
Soon  small  groups  of  children  gathered  about  it, 
listening  to  their  most  educated  members  as  they  read 
it  aloud.  Soon  the  message  gained  sway. 

"  Tha's  true,"  lisped  Elsie  Labuys,  "  'tis  the  most- 
est  fun  to  make  the  mixtures  all  yourself.  I  wish  I 
hadn't  bought  so  many  already  mixed  from  Rosy." 

"  And  it  is  good  to  have  a  lot  of  each  kind.  Rosa 
Flemming  has  nothing  but  crumbs,"  said  Saidee,  an 
acknowledged  leader. 

The  tide  turned.  Smiles  and  dimples  reappeared 
in  the  pink  cheeks  and  the  brown,  as  Eulalia  and 
Melindy  joyfully  served  their  steady  stream  of  ad 
miring  customers. 

They  were  in  the  act  of  triumphantly  clearing 
away  empty  tables  and  "  cash-box  "  full  of  shining 
pins,  when  they  saw  Agostine  Du  Fossat  turn  the 
street  corner  and  advance  quickly  toward  them. 

"Cl'ar  de  path!"  exclaimed  Melindy.  "  Hyah 
comes  Miss  'Gostine  on  a  run.  Nebber  seen  nothin' 
like  dese-yer  French  gals.  Dey  is  either  quicker  dan 
lightnin'  or  slower  dan  cole  molasses.  Dey  nebber 
jess  walks, —  alluz  a-runnin'  like  mad  or  a  draggin' 
deir  feets.  Mohnin',  Miss  'Gostine!  —  Oh!  —  Does 


132  Melindy 

you  feel  bad,  Miss  'Gostine?  Lemme  he'p  you  in  de 
house ! " 

For  Agostine's  face  was  ashen,  her  hands  trem 
bling  and  her  fragile  little  figure  swaying  pathetically. 

"Thanks.  'Tis  nothing.  Nathalie!  — Is  Miss 
Nathalie  within?  " 

"  Cousin  Nathalie !  "  The  scream  of  frightened 
Eulalia  brought  Nathalie  to  the  window.  Quick  as 
the  light  she  always  seemed  to  embody,  Nathalie 
darted  downstairs  and  to  the  door  to  meet  Agostine 
and  her  two  anxious  pages. 

One  glance  into  Agostine's  tragic  face,  then, 
"  Come  in  to  me,  honey,"  said  the  soft,  steady  voice, 
sympathetically,  as  the  cool,  strong  young  hands  took 
hold  of  the  fluttering  nervous  ones.  "  Come  in,  Tina 
mia,  and  tell  it  to  Nathalie." 

The  touch  of  Nathalie  was  like  the  touch  of  the 
earth  to  the  mythical  Grecian  hero, —  new  strength 
sprang  from  it.  Agostine  smiled. 

"  'Tis  for  that  I  am  come,  carita !  " 

"  Have  some  iced  tea  sent  at  once  to  my  room, 
Melindy,"  said  Nathalie,  "  with  plenty  of  mint  in  it. 
You  shall  sit  in  the  great  big  wicker  chair,  little  Tina, 
and  rest  and  have  some  tea,  and  then  tell  me,  slowly. 
Come ! " 

Agostine  sat  intensely  upright  in  the  lounging 
chair  and  scarcely  touched  the  refreshing  tea  and  yet 
she  relaxed  more  and  more  as  she  told  her  story  to 
Nathalie's  eager  interest  and  alert  sympathy. 

It  was  a  tragic,  sordid  little  tale. 


Strictly  Commercial  133 

Monsieur  Du  Fossat,  a  lawyer  of  a  defunct  old 
school,  a  lawyer  all  but  briefless,  his  income  decreas 
ing,  seemingly  in  exact  proportion  as  the  cost  of 
living  increased,  had  been  tempted  a  few  years  before 
to  invest  in  trade.  If  he  had  taken  this  step  openly 
and  asked  advice  of  more  practical  friends,  men  of 
affairs,  all  would  have  been  well.  But  the  Du  Fos- 
sats  shared,  with  some  others  of  the  once-great  old 
French  and  Spanish  families  who  had  for  so  long  held 
Louisiana  from  "  Americanization,"  the  antiquated 
feeling  that  ordinary  commerce  was  degrading  and 
declasse.  Therefore,  acting  secretly,  he  had  fallen 
a  prey  to  the  guile  of  a  fraudulent  commission  broker, 
who  was  supposed  to  represent  large  Northern  inter 
ests.  Monsieur  Du  Fossat,  the  silent  partner,  had 
been  called  upon  again  and  again  to  bolster  up  the 
firm's  affairs. 

"  But,"  said  Agostine  at  this  point,  "  each  time, 
this  Mr.  Warden  would  insist  that  soon  the  profits 
would  be  immense.  *  Immense '  was  his  exact  word 
to  my  poor,  poor  father.  Now,  all  he  has  saved  for 
years,  it  is  gone!  But  that  is  not  the  terrible  thing. 
I  am  not  to  be  shaken  by  mere  poverty."  The 
daughter  of  the  Du  Fossats  drew  herself  up  proudly. 

"Poor  baby!"  thought  Nathalie. 

"But  oh!  my  dear!  —  Mon  Dieul  Tielas!  —  this 
wretch,  this  criminal  of  a  man,  he  has  not  at  all  a 
legitimate  business.  He  has  taken  many  fine  and 
valuable  samples  and  has  sold  them  and  he  has  not 
rendered  an  accounting  or  moneys,  and  many  other 


134  Melindy 

bad  things  which  I  understand  not  he  has  done.  And 
now  he  is  daily  watched.  They  have  sent  a  lawyer 
from  New  York.  If  all  is  not  made  right  this  week, 
he  shall  be  arrested,  put  in  the  jail,  and  my  dear 
father, —  a  Du  Fossat !  —  his  partner !  Now,  no  one 
knows  they  are  partners ;  but  it  will  come  to  be  known 
when  they  take  the  books  and  see.  In  the  public 
court!  Maybe  —  maybe  —  oh!  I  cannot  say  it  —  I 
cannot  —  him  too  they  will  take."  And  Agostine 
burst  into  wild  sobbing. 

"  My  mother  is  locked  in  her  room  with  sal  volatile. 
I  cannot  let  the  servants  see  me  weep.  I  have  prom 
ised  not  to  tell, —  I  am  now  breaking  my  word  to  my 
poor  father.  But, —  I  cannot  keep  it  alone  any 
longer!  What  shall  we  do!  What  shall  we  do, 
Nathalie!  —  His  old  friends  all  are  men  of  high 
honor  —  they  will  cast  him  off  —  even  General  Havi- 
land  —  Ger-Gerald's  uncle  will  scorn  us  —  Gerald 
too,  perhaps, —  they  must  not  know.  And,  oh! 
Nathalie,  all  the  time  none  is  really  more  honorable 
than  my  father.  He  is  honor  itself!  But  they  will 
not  understand.  How  can  these  things  be ! 

"  You  must  never  tell  what  I  have  told  you. 
Never !  Promise !  Or  I  shall  die !  " 

"  Surely,  I  promise.  Surely,  Tinalina ;  now  be 
still,  my  dear,  be  quiet.  Wait,  we  shall  be  guided." 

"  Where  to  be  guided?  What  can  be  done?  We 
could  sell  the  house, —  it  is  my  mother's.  But  who 
will  buy  that  old  place,  within  a  week?  And  it  is 
already  mortgaged  all  it  can  be.  That  was  done  to 


Strictly  Commercial  135 

send  my  brothers  to  the  college.  Poor  lads  —  they 
did  not  know!  Now  they  will  have  such  a  return 
home!  After  all  we  have  sacrificed,  they  will  not 
have  their  professions.  And  they  will  have  to  make 
explanations  for  their  father.  They  honor  and  ad 
mire  him  so — what  a  blow  to  all  for  him  to  tell 
them !  It  will  —  break  —  my  —  father's  heart !  He 
will  not  live  to  do  it,  Nathalie.  A  Du  Fossat!  I 
know  he  will  not  live !  "  She  started  up  in  terror  at 
the  thought. 

"  My  dear !  My  dear !  Agostine ! "  soothed 
Nathalie.  Then,  after  a  little,  "Would  it  not  be 
better  to  tell  one  close  friend  —  George  or  Judge  de 
Villiers  or  General  Haviland  —  and  get  help  than  to 
have  every  one  know  later,  so  wretchedly  ?  " 

"Who  could  help?  How  could  we  honestly  take 
so  much  help, —  so  many  thousands  with  no  prospects 
of  ever  paying, —  except  maybe  after  years,  if  the 
boys  are  fortunate  ?  " 

Agostine's  sunken  eyes  filled,  her  poor  drawn  little 
face  twitched  pitifully  and  the  tiny  hands  beat  a 
nervous  tattoo  on  the  broad  arms  of  the  wicker  chair. 

Nathalie's  faith  was  sturdy.  She  turned  to  the 
sunlit  window  and  prayed  silently,  standing. 

The  thing,  she  thought,  to  be  most  avoided  was 
that  proud  Monsieur  Du  Fossat, —  the  idol  of  his 
children  —  should  have  to  be  humbled,  even  tempo 
rarily,  in  the  eyes  of  his  sons.  She  could  see  the 
boys  in  her  imagination,  straight  and  young,  so  full 
of  ambition  and  idealism  and  pride  in  the  honorable 


136  Melindy 

Du  Fossat  tradition.  She  had  always  been  fond  of 
them  both. 

Her  resolution  was  made. 

"  Agostine,"  she  said,  "  now  don't  go  up  through 
the  air  at  what  I'm  about  to  suggest.  Think  it  over 
first.  I  have  five  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank.  I 
am  not  allowed  to  touch  my  little  capital  —  but  that 
five  thousand  was  left  out  of  the  funds  for  my  educa 
tion.  I  can  do  as  I  like  with  it.  I  haven't  any  need 
of  it." 

"  Father  would  not  borrow  from  a  girl ! "  said 
Agostine  proudly,  albeit  a  little  faintly  at  the  mere 
thought  of  possible  relief.  "  And  —  anyway  —  you 
darling !  —  do  you  think  I  would  take  all  of  your 
money?  " 

"  Father  need  not  know ! "  Nathalie  was  fired 
with  earnestness  and  the  eager  altruism  of  youth, 
"  And  you  have  nothing  to  say  about  it.  Silence ! 
Where  is  this  lawyer?  " 

"  Helas !  I  do  not  know  and  I  doubt  if  it  could 
be  done  without  my  father's  consent.  So  you  cannot 
help,  generous  Nathalie !  " 

Nathalie  bent  her  brows  in  thought.  The  little 
picture  of  despair  sat  rigid. 

Voices  floated  up  from  the  garden. 

"  Yas'm,  Miss  Carrie.  We  didn'  hab  no  mo'  suc 
cess  a-sellin'  our  pretty  sand  dan  ef  we  wuz  a-sellin' 
tickets  to  de  dentist's.  But  we  kep'  a-hopin'  an* 
a-tryin'.  Nothin'  beats  a  trial  but  a  failure.  And, 
pretty  soon,  plumb  out  ob  de  Hebbins,  'long  come 


Strictly  Commercial  137 

Marse  Gerald,  steppin'  along,  an'  he  says,  'Why 
doan'  you  use  modern  business  ways  ?  '  An'  he  wrote 
us  out  a  cyard  dat  tole  de  chilluns  all  'bout  our  sand 
bein'  de  bes',  an'  he  tacked  it  up  on  de  fence.  An* 
we  done  got  dem  chilluns  teh  come  buy  quick  as 
licketty-split  after  dat.  If  you  ebber  hab  any  busi 
ness  troubles,  Miss  Carrie,  honey,  doan'  fergit  Marse 
Gerald." 

Agostine  wrung  her  hands  wretchedly  at  that  last 
sentence,  so  significant  to  her. 

But  Nathalie  started  and  stood  poised  in  thought. 
Then  she  clapped  her  hands  silently,  rejoicingly,  took 
courage  and  put  on  her  hat. 

"  Shh !  No  questions !  Never  mind ! "  she  said 
cheerily,  in  answer  to  Agostine's  marveling  expres 
sion.  "  Rest  here  or  run  along  home,  honey.  I 
have  an  idea.  Take  hope  —  not  too  much  hope,  but 
hope !  No,  I'll  tell  nothing  yet  —  it  is  just  a  chance. 
Of  course  I'll  reveal  no  secrets,  goosie !  We're  going 
to  apply  modern  methods  —  so  modern  they've  never 
been  tried!  Will  you  stay  here?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  I  must  go  home  to  poor  little  Mother," 
said  Agostine,  rising  to  meet  Nathalie's  kiss. 

"  Well,  wait  just  a  little.  I  will  order  the  horses. 
Lewis  shall  drive  you  home,  honey.  I  cannot  let  you 
take  the  street-car,  to-day,  childy.  Cheer  up,  dear. 
I  think  I  see  a  light!" 

Nathalie  all  but  ran  to  General  Haviland's  cottage, 
trying  hard  to  compose  her  tell-tale  face. 

The  General  was  working  in  his  exquisite  garden 


138  Melindy 

of  pale-blooming  plants.  He  was  untwining  a  too 
ambitious  pale  yellow  rose- vine  from  the  branches  of 
the  porcelain-pink  crepe-myrtle. 

"  Why,  here's  our  lass !  "  he  cried,  lifting  his  great 
linen  shade  hat  gallantly  and  coming  quickly  forward 
to  open  the  gate  for  her.  "  Here's  our  lass,  bright 
as  the  morning !  " 

Nathalie  smiled  in  relief  that  he  did  not  read  her 
anxiety.  But  soon,  "  No, —  there's  a  cloud  over  the 
sun.  What  is  it,  dear?  "  asked  the  keen-eyed  General. 

"  Nothing  concerning  me,  sir.  One  of  my  friends 
has  had  a  sorrow.  A  secret,  General  Haviland! 
And  she  has  been  telling  me  about  it.  I've  run  over 
to  learn  whether  Gerald  is  coming  home  for  luncheon 
to-day.  I  know  he  often  does  when  he  has  been 
uptown  inspecting  the  building  of  houses  he's  de 
signed.  Yes?  He  is  coming?  Oh,  good!  Please 
ask  him  to  come  to  see  me  for  a  little  while  before 
he  goes  down-town  again.  I've  something  for  him 
to  do, —  very  important." 

"  Can't  I  help  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Robert,  coming  out 
upon  the  porch.  "  Won't  I  do?  " 

Nathalie  never  realized  how  deeply  Agostine's 
trouble  had  entered  her  own  soul,  until  Robert  asked 
that.  The  tears  welled  up  in  her  eyes  —  those  happy 
eyes  that  seldom  held  tears  for  herself  —  and  she 
trembled  with  the  yearning  to  throw  her  perplexity 
upon  Robert's  quiet  strength  and  rest  in  the  protec 
tion  of  this  known  though  unavowed  young  lover. 


Strictly  Commercial  139 

"  No,"  she  smiled.  "  Thank  you,  Robert.  This  is 
Gerald's  job.  I  must  get  home  now.  A  rivederci!  " 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  trouble,  Uncle?  "  asked 
Robert  in  alarm,  when  she  had  gone. 

"  Oh,  no !  Her  tender  heart  is  torn  over  some 
other  girl's  woes,"  answered  the  General,  smiling. 
"  Some  little  passing  disappointment,  I  dare  say. 
Girls  feel  things  so." 

But  Robert  was  troubled.  Nathalie's  eyes  —  he 
knew,  although  she  seldom  dared  lift  them  to  his  in 
these  sweet,  tremulant  days  —  did  not  wear  that 
anxious  look  for  any  light  grief. 

Gerald  arrived  as  the  two  were  beginning  their 
luncheon,  and  received  from  the  General  his  message 
that  Nathalie  wished  to  see  him. 

"  I'll  go  right  after  luncheon,"  he  said  and  took 
his  seat. 

But,  "  I  should,"  said  Robert.  "  It  seems  some 
friend  of  Nathalie's  is  in  trouble.  It  looked  to  me 
as  if  Nathalie  thought  it  very  real  trouble.  Why, 
Gerry !  Eat  your  luncheon  first !  " 
•  "  Some  friend  of  Nathalie's,"  to  Gerald's  pre 
occupied  mind,  could  mean  only  Agostine.  He 
turned  very  pale,  rose,  apologized  to  his  uncle,  and 
left  his  luncheon  untasted. 

"  I'll  be  fed  down-town,  later,"  he  called  from  the 
porch. 

"Why,  what  is  up?"  wondered  the  Doctor,  dis 
turbed. 


140  Melindy 

"Oh!  Youth!  Youth!"  the  General  replied,  reas 
suringly. 

Then  he  leaned  toward  him  and  placed  his  hand 
over  Robert's.  "  My  boy,"  he  said  gravely,  "  it 
seems  he  still  cares  for  our  lass." 

The  eager  Nathalie  met  Gerald  at  the  rose-em 
bowered  gate. 

"  Thank  you,  Gerry,"  she  said.  "  Come  into  the 
round  arbor.  Hist ! "  she  added  with  a  gay  note  of 
mystery,  "  I  would  speak  with  you  alone." 

Gerald  wondered  with  a  little  dismay  at  her  choos 
ing  the  round  arbor  for  their  tete-a-tete.  The  place 
was  full  of  memories  of  their  youthful,  outworn 
sweethearting.  He  had  not  been  in  the  round  arbor 
with  Nathalie  since  what  had  seemed  at  the  time  a 
tragic  parting. 

Nathalie  —  the  light  upon  her  soft  hair  and  the 
flickering  sunbeams  and  leaf-shadows  marking  her 
white  frock  —  turned  to  him  with  direct  simplicity. 

"  Gerald, —  brother, —  trust  my  motives  and  an 
swer  me  sincerely.  I  have  brought  you  to  this  spot 
where  whatever  old,  spent  sentimentalities  there  may 
be,  heap  all  their  influences  upon  you.  For  I  want 
your  answer  to  stand  their  test  and  be  sure. 

"  You  have  —  as  I  hope  —  entirely  wide-awakened 
from  your  old  boyish  dream  concerning  me?  That  is 
true,—  brother  Gerald?  " 

"That  is  true, —  sphinx.     What  riddle  is  this?" 

"  It  is  truly  important.  Trust  me.  And  continue 
to  be  frank.  Gerald,  do  you  love  Agostine?  Oh! 


Strictly  Commercial  141 

Believe  I  am  not  impertinent,  and  tell  me.  That  is 
true?" 

"  That  is  true." 

"Deeply,  Gerald?  Enough  to  make  sacrifices  to 
keep  her  from  pain?  Enough  to  share  any  loss,  sor 
row,  or  disgrace  even?  You  are  sure?  " 

"  I  am  sure." 

"  Then  —  I  will  tell  you.  She  loves  you  too, 
Gerald." 

"  Nathalie !  Nathalie !  How  do  you  know  ?  Why 
do  you  tell  me !  Are  you  certain  ?  " 

"Wait  a  bit  for  the  raptures,  lucky  boy.  Now, 
listen.  I  must  go  carefully,  and  speak  cryptically 
and  not  reveal  secrets.  But  if  you  trust  my  judg 
ment  as  well  as  my  sincerity,  if  you  desire  to  save 
our  Agostine  from  misery,  listen  closely,  do  just  what 
I  say  and  without  delay." 

"  I  promise,  Nathalie  the  Wise.  Oh,  child,  speak 
quickly ! " 

66  Then  go  to-day, —  at  once  : —  to  Monsieur  Du 
Fossat  and  ask  his  permission  to  offer  marriage  to 
Agostine.  You  look  as  if  that  would  not  be  hard! 
—  Well,  now  listen  well.  He  will  doubtless  be  very 
wretched,  will  say  that  he  desires  you  for  a  son-in- 
law,  but  that  there  are  miserable  reasons  which  for 
bid." 

"Why,  Nathalie!" 

"Sh!  Listen.  Gerald,— if  you  love  our  little 
Tina,  insist  upon  knowing  the  reasons.  He  will 
assure  you,  of  course,  that  they  reflect  in  no  way 


142  Melindy 

upon  you  or  yours.  Still  insist.  Say  that  you  must 
know,  that  your  happiness  depends  upon  it,  that  Tina 
loves  you, —  I  vouch  for  that !  —  that  he  owes  it  to 
you  to  tell,  that  you  will  be  mute  as  the  grave. 
Say  —  and  get  this  part  right,  do!  —  that  whatever 
sorrow  or  even  disgrace  could  come  to  him  you  would 
have  to  share  because,  if  he  truly  approves  of  you, 
as  he  says, —  you  are  determined  to  be  his  son-in-law. 
Nothing  external  shall  prevent.  Therefore  you  have 
a  right  to  help  if  you  can. 

"  Oh !  Gerald,  dear,  as  you  love  Agostine,  do  not 
leave  until  he  tells  you.  Do  not  leave  until  he  lets 
you  help.  '  Ask  me  no  more.*  You  mil  do  all  this, 
Gerry?" 

"  I  will,  of  course,  Nathalie.  No  one  who  knows 
your  true  heart  and  wise,  good  head,  dear  girl,  could 
hesitate.  I  think  I  have  my  lesson  aright, —  though 
I'd  risk  any  gaucherie  or  blunder  for  Agostine's  sake. 
But  I  feel  like  a  man  in  a  fairy-tale." 

"  The  prince,  come  to  the  rescue !  Good  boy, 
Gerry  dear!  I  knew  you  would  obey.  I'm  Fairy 
Godmother.  One  thing  more.  If  you  should  find, 
by  any  chance,  that  you  need  more  money  than  you 
have  at  hand  — " 

"Why;  Nathalie !" 

"  Patience  1  Remember  we  have  been  brother  and 
sister  all  our  lives  " —  here  Nathalie  blushed  a  glori 
ous  flood  of  color  — "  and  I  have  five  thousand  dollars 
at  your  service." 

She  ran  past  him. 


Strictly  Commercial  143 

"  Blest  be  your  quest2  Sir  Knight  I "  she  called  from 
the  door  of  the  arbor. 

Melindy  was  sitting  alone  in  the  kitchen,  shelling 
peas.  Nathalie  ran  to  her  and  clasped  her  in  her 
arms. 

"Oh!  Melindy!  We  have  done  it,  I  think!  I 
think  we  have  found  a  way.  Thank  you,  wise  baby ! " 

"  You're  welcome,"  said  Melindy  politely.  "  What 
smaht  thing  is  you  an'  me  done  done,  Miss  Nat'lie? 
What  has  I  done  did,  f o'  you  to  thank  me  so  pretty  ?  " 

"  Taught  me,  when  I  had  business  troubles,  not  to 
forget  Marse  Gerald ! "  laughed  Nathalie.  "  I  had 
business  troubles  and  I  sent  for  him  and  I  think  he's 
going  to  fix  them." 

"Da's  right,"  dimpled  Melindy.  "He's  a  good, 
smaht  business  man,  he  is.  I  recommend  him,  I  does. 
A  li'l  bit  light-steppin'  wif  his  tongue  sometimes,  but 
a  mighty  kine  young  man. 

"An'  so's  Marse  Robert,  Miss  Nathalie.  Nex* 
time,  maybe,  us  kin  send  fo'  young  Marse  Rob." 

"  Oh !  Melindy,  Melindy,  perhaps  next  time,  we 
can!" 


CHAPTER  X 

SUGAR  AND  SPICE 

EAGERLY  Nathalie  watched  for  her  fellow-conspira 
tor's  return,  growing  more  and  more  hopeful  as  the 
hours  went  by. 

For  she  felt  that  the  delay  must  indicate  prolonged 
activity  and,  therefore,  not  despair.  Either  Gerald 
was  still  pleading  with  M.  Du  Fossat  or  acting  as  his 
acknowledged  protector. 

Therefore,  although  Gerald  did  not  reappear  at  all 
that  day  or  evening,  Nathalie  went  to  sleep  with  a 
light  heart,  predicting  happiness. 

Early  next  morning  Gerald  joined  her  as  she  sat 
with  her  sewing  on  the  broad  white  porch. 

"  Saved !  "  he  called  reassuringly.  "  We're  not 
quite  out  of  the  woods  yet,  but  all  real  danger  is 
averted.  *  I'll  tell  you  all  I  can.' "  He  perched 
upon  the  porch  railing,  against  festoons  of  the 
Marechal  Niel  rose  vine. 

"  I  can't  talk  about  it  with  perfect  freedom,  be 
cause  M.  Du  Fossat  doesn't  know  you  know,  of 
course.  He'd  perish  if  he  suspected.  Equally  of 
course,  he  expects  me  to  keep  silent.  And  I  don't 
know  how  much  you  do  know. 

"  It  took  hours  to  make  him  confide  in  me.  Poor 
144 


Sugar  and  Spice  145 

old  gentleman!  What  a  rare  spirit  he  has,  and  what 
an  infant  he  is!  But  —  at  last  he  let  me  save  the 
situation.  And  I  did." 

«0h!     Gerald!" 

"  Only  —  here's  the  rub  —  he  insists  I'm  not  to 
say  a  word  of  wooing  to  Agostine  until  he  has  paid 
back  all  that  it  cost  to  arrange  this  affair.  You  see 
his  viewpoint,  of  course.  Judging  by  all  the  indica 
tions  —  and  I  am  an  optimist  —  that  will  happen 
when  all  these  endearing  young  charms  that  so  indif 
ferently  you  gaze  on  to-day  have  retired  on  half -pay. 

"  Don't  laugh,  Nathalie.  I'm  really  horribly  anx 
ious  about  it.  What  will  Agostine  think?  She 
won't  know  how  I  —  feel  about  her,  and  — " 

"  Oh !  ho !  It's  good  discipline  for  you  to  have  to 
repress  your  exuberant  expressions  for  a  little  while, 
Gerry.  Melindy  said  to  Suky, —  they  didn't  know  I 
was  in  the  garden, —  that  my  Japanese  wind-bell  is 
'fo'  all  de  worl'  lak  Marse  Gerry  Hav'land, —  jess 
a-tinklin'  pleasant  all  de  time,  but  no  pertickler  tune 
to  it.'  The  tune  may  be  better  for  a  little  silence, 
Gerald." 

"  Yes,  Teacher.  Maybe  it  won't  hurt  to  wait  a 
little  while.  But  to  keep  silent  to  Tina  until  Raoul 
and  Auguste  have  been  graduated  and  become  highly 
successful  lawyers  and  are  able  to  assist  their  father 
financially,  or  to  wait  until  M.  Du  Fossat  recaptures 
enough  long-departed  clients!  I'd  have  to  under 
study  the  sphinx.  Oh!  I  wish  I  could  hypnotize 
Mademoiselle  Euphrosyne ! " 


146  Melindy 

Nathalie  laughed.  Mademoiselle  Euphrosyne  Du 
Fossat  was  Agostine's  crotchety  maiden  aunt.  She 
was  very  wealthy  and  lived  in  solitary  and  luxurious 
chagrin  in  a  stately  old  house  on  the  Esplanade.  Oc 
casionally  she  emerged  to  visit  her  relations,  but  some 
fancied  indignity  was  sure  soon  to  drive  her  back  into 
retirement. 

She  had  promised  to  pay  for  the  education  of  the 
Du  Fossat  boys,  but  had  been  moved  to  recant  be 
cause  Agostine's  visiting  cards  were  found  to  read 
"  Miss  Agostine  Du  Fossat  "  instead  of  "  Miss  Agos- 
tine  Euphrosyne  Myrtilla  Du  Fossat,"  as  she  had 
been  christened. 

"  Anybody  with  a  sense  of  humor  would  rejoice 
that  little  Tina  did  shed  some  of  that  big  name,"  said 
Gerald.  "  She  used  to  rattle  around  in  it.  But  the 
point  is, —  can't  we  hypnotize  Mile.  Euphrosyne 
Myrtilla?  If  she  would  fulfill  her  pledge  to  reim 
burse  M.  Du  Fossat  for  the  boys'  schooling  —  she's 
talked  about  this  thing  to  everybody  in  her  social 
world,  so  we  can  safely  acknowledge  it, —  if  she 
would,  then  M.  Du  Fossat  could  square  this  debt  at 
once.  I  don't  want  the  money,  of  course, —  but  I  do 
want  Agostine.  And  not  even  to  be  allowed  see 
her  as  often  as  she'd  let  me!  I  suppose  it  would 
be  too  late  for  Agostine  to  have  some  new  cards 
printed?  " 

"With  a  headline  reading:  Erratum?"  laughed 
Nathalie,  "and  a  footnote  saying:  All  previous 
issues  hereby  repealed?  Poor  Miss  Euphrosyne! 


Sugar  and  Spice  147 

She's  not  popular.  Melindy  has  been  crying  all  the 
morning  because  she  has  to  go  there  for  an  hour  or 
two  every  day  to  help  her  in  the  garden.  Oh !  Must 
you  go?  Good-by,  Gerry.  I'm  proud  of  you.  And 
it's  all  coming  right.  You  just  wait. 

"Why,  Melindy,  child!  You  crying!  Whatever 
is  the  matter?" 

"Well,  Missy  Nat'lie,"  sighed  that  tear-stained 
young  person,  coming  up  the  porch  steps  and  stand 
ing  sadly  before  her,  "  how'd  you  like  to  work  f  o'  a 
grunter  lady  ?  " 

"For  a  what,  child?" 

"  Fo'  a  grunter  lady.  Yas'm,  das  whar  dis-yer 
Miss  Euph'seen  am.  She  grunts  all  de  blessed  time, 
'bout  ev'thin'.  She  come  hyah  to  our  house  one  day 
teh  see  Miss  Carrie,  an'  Missy  Euly  held  out  her  han' 
so  pretty  teh  her, —  and  Miss  Euph'seen  she  grunt  an' 
say,  '  Good  manners  but  sticky  fingers ! '  And  you 
know  li'l  Miss  Euly  ain't  nebber  been  a  sticky-finger 
chile.  An'  once  at  breakfas'  li'l  Marse  Eustace  done 
shook  her  arm  —  jess  a  li'l  bit  —  not  meanin'  it  — 
an'  make  Miss  Euph'seen  spill  some  milk  out  ob  her 
spoon  on  de  table  clof  an'  she  gone  grunt  an'  say, 
*  How  horrid !  Now  I  mus'  eat  ma  cereal  in  a  pud 
dle!' 

"An'  now  her  li'l  erran'  boy  done  lef  fo'  two 
weeks  teh  visit  he  granny  on  de  plantation.  An'  she 
done  ax  Miss  Carrie  an'  Sis  Suky  kin  I  come  down 
dere  on  de  street-cyars  for  a  hour  or  two  ebery  day 
endurin'  de  time  'twell  he  gits  back,  an'  he'p  watah 


148  Melindy 

her  flowers.  An'  dey  done  say  *  Yas,'  I  kin.  An'  I 
doan'  want-a,  Miss  Nat'lie,  honey ! " 

"  Oh,  childy,  Miss  Euphrosyne  is  really  a  very  kind 
old  lady,  and  if  you  are  sweet  and  do  right  you'll 
have  a  good  time  there, —  even  if  her  manner  is  a 
little  spicy." 

"  Well,"  said  Melindy  resignedly,  "  ef  she's  spice, 
I'll  be  sugar,  an'  see  ef  we  cyan't  cook  up  somethin' 
good  between  us.  But  de  las'  time  I  was  dar  I  did 
try  teh  be  sweet,  an'  she  gib  me  a  lubly  rose  she  done 
growed  by  grafting  one  bush  on  anudder  bush,  some 
way.  An'  she  ax  me  so  proud,  '  M'lindy,  does  you 
know  who  made  dat  lubly  rose  you  got  ? '  An'  I 
say,  '  Yas'm,  de  good  Lawd  made  her,'  an'  she  done 
grunt  an'  went  in  de  house  mad  as  a  hornet. 

"  She's  a  plumb  curious  ole  lady,  dat-ar  Miss 
Euph'seen  is." 

Nevertheless  Melindy  was  forced  to  obey  the  sum 
mons,  an  unwilling  sacrifice.  For  Miss  Carrie  did  not 
dare  offend  the  sensitive  old  lady  by  refusal  and 
Sis  Suky  thought  it  would  be  good  for  her  ward  to 
be  somewhere,  for  a  little  while,  "  whar  ev'ybody 
warn't  spoilin'  her  teh  death  all  de  time." 

The  actual  departure  in  the  afternoon  gave  Me 
lindy  a  pleasant  sense  of  importance.  She  wore  her 
little  new  pink  pinafore  and  carried  a  big  brown 
paper  bag  containing  a  ball  of  twine,  wire  and  her 
own  little  garden  shears. 

Her  pride  was  much  gratified,  too,  by  the  awe  of 
Remus  and  Ramus  who  followed  her  to  the  street-car, 


Sugar  and  Spice  149 

deeply  impressed  by  her  going  off  all  alone  to  work 
for  Miss  Euphrosyne. 

"  Melindy's  gwine  teh  be  a  sho'-'nough  gardener ; 
ain't  she,  Ramus?  "  asked  Remus. 

"  How  does  I  know  what  she's  a-gwine-a  be  ?  Come 
'long  back  home  soon,  Melindy." 

"  A'right,  Twinses ;  soon's  I  kin  git  free.  Goo' 
bye,  Twinses!  Thanky,  Twinses!"  and  Melindy 
jumped  on  the  car  and  was  borne  away. 

Miss  Euphrosyne's  cook,  a  quiet,  dignified  old 
negress,  met  her  unsmilingly  at  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Go  'long  upstairs  teh  Miss  Euph'seen's  settin' 
room,"  said  she  in  answer  to  the  child's  pretty  greet 
ing.  "  She's  been  a-wonderin'  whar  kep'  you.  You 
got-teh  step  lively  ef  you  want-a  stay  'round  dese 
diggin's." 

Melindy  was  sorely  tempted  to  reply  that  she  had 
no  desire  whatever  to  remain;  but  politeness  was 
natural  to  her  and  really  had  its  seat  in  her  good 
little  heart.  Nobody  ever  had  a  truer  desire  to  "  be 
pleasant."  So  she  hazarded  another  smile  at  the  un 
responsive  Aunt  Clem  and  betook  herself  quickly  up 
stairs. 

"  I  ain'  a-gwine-a  argify  wif  Aunt  Clem,"  she  said 
to  herself.  "  Reckon  I'll  hab  all  I  kin  do  teh  look 
out  fo'  Miss  Euph'seen." 

That  tart  old  lady  sat  in  the  bay-window  of  her 
white-and-lavender  boudoir,  admiring  the  effect  of  her 
new  wistaria-pattern  carpet. 

"  Come  in ! "  she  said  crisply  in  reply  to  Melindy's 


150  Melindy 

timid  knock.     "  Look  out  for  the  carpet.     Don't  step 
on  the  white;  step  on  the  lavender." 

Melindy  picked  her  way  carefully  across  the  design 
and  stood  before  her. 

"  Are  you  hungry,  child?  " 

"  No'm.  Thank  you,  ma'am.  Ain'  dis-hyeah  a 
pritty  room ! " 

"  HWm ! "  said  Miss  Euphrosyne.  And  thought 
it  evident  that  Melindy  was  allowed  too  much  latitude 
in  speech. 

"  Sort  of  sets  off  yo'  pritty  silvery  hair  so  gentle," 
pursued  Melindy. 

"  Hm'm !  "  said  Miss  Euphrosyne  with  the  ghost  of 
a  smile  and  thought  the  child  had  eyes  in  her  head 
anyway. 

"  Das  whar  I  alluz  says  teh  ma  Missy  Euly,"  Me 
lindy  prattled  on,  "  I  says,  *  Miss  Euph'seen's 
purples  alluz  puts  me  in  mind  ob  a  mornin'-glory  ' 
—  Melindy  was  too  diplomatic  to  add  that  the  full 
quotation  was,  "  a  mornin'-glory  wif  a  bee  inside  of 
it." 

"  Hm'm ! "  said  Miss  Euphrosyne,  smiling  broadly 
and  deciding  that  Melindy  was  a  very  mannerly  little 
pickaninny  after  all. 

"  Come  along  downstairs,  now,  and  I'll  show  you 
what's  to  be  done  in  the  garden." 

Melindy  knew  that  she  had  scored.  For  the  observ 
ant  young  philosopher  was  wont  to  say,  "  Nebber 
min'  what  folkses  says  teh  you.  Look  in  deir  eyes 
fo'  yo'  answer.  You  kin'  fin'  out  mo'  what  a  pusson 


Sugar  and  Spice  151 

means  from  de  looks  in  deir  eyes  dan  you  kin  from 
de  words  outer  deir  moufs." 

Her  discipline,  however,  began  early. 

"  Fill  the  two  watering-cans,"  said  Miss  Eu- 
phrosyne,  "  and  bring  them  to  me.  We'll  begin  on  the 
shady  side  of  the  house  and  water  the  sunny  side  last, 
when  the  sun  is  low.  As  fast  as  I  empty  one  can, 
fill  it  again.  Don't  spill  the  water.  Don't  let  the 
faucet  run.  Walk, —  don't  dance.  And  don't  talk 
or  sing  while  working." 

Dutifully  Melindy  suppressed  her  agile  feet  and 
active  tongue.  Dutifully  she  maintained  a  cheerful 
expression,  thinking  all  the  while,  "  Got  teh  keep 
awful  still.  I  didn'  know  I  wuz  a-comin'  teh 
church." 

Miss  Euphrosyne's  garden  was  not  difficult  to  care 
for.  It  was  what  Melindy  called  "  a  lazy  garden," 
—  composed  chiefly  of  ferns,  geraniums  and  such 
hardy  plants  as,  in  the  moist,  balmy  climate  of 
Louisiana,  needed  little  or  no  cultivation. 

The  watering  over,  Miss  Euphrosyne  entrusted  Me 
lindy  with  gathering  huge  masses  of  pink  geranium 
blooms  for  the  vases  and  jars  throughout  the  house. 

Melindy,  accustomed  to  Miss  Carrie's  naturalistic 
method  of  flower  arrangement,  began  snipping  off  the 
heavy  headed  blossoms  with  generous  stems  of  vary 
ing  length. 

"  Wait,  child ! "  cried  her  employer  in  dismay, 
"  Take  this  little  rule  and  see  that  all  the  stems  are 
just  the  same  length.  I  like  the  bouquets  in  my 


152  Melindy 

vases  to  be  very  smooth  and  even.  There  are  en 
tirely  too  many  things  at  loose  edges  nowadays. 
Look  at  your  shoe-strings  now.  I've  noticed  that 
you  have  one  shoe  laced  over-hand  and  one  under. 
Why  is  that?  " 

Melindy  looked  at  her  shoes  questioningly.  "  I 
dunno,  Miss  Euph'seen.  I  reckon  dey  isn't  no  why 
to  it.  Does  it  make  me  walk  kine  o'  lop-sided,  does 
you  think?"  —  rather  hoping  for  an  affirmative  re- 


"  Certainly  not.  But  be  careful  to  have  them 
right  another  time.  Now,  snip  !  " 

Soon  the  day's  task  was  over  and  Melindy  went 
homeward  well  established  in  Miss  Euphrosyne's 
good  graces  and  not  entirely  dissatisfied  with  her 
new  employment. 

"  She's  kind  o'  picky,  but  not  pecky,"  she  ex 
plained  to  Suky.  "  She  talks  lak  words  wus  scarce, 
but  she  doan'  grunt  as  much  es  I  expected." 

Next  afternoon  Melindy  relaced  and  retied  her 
shoes  with  scrupulous  care  and  returned  toward  the 
Esplanade  in  good  time. 

But  —  alas  !  —  she  had  not  gone  far  on  her  way 
before  she  encountered  with  a  mixture  of  piquant 
pleasure  and  dismay  her  arch  enemy,  Edwin  Hadley 
Osborne  La  Rouche,  the  Boy  from  Back  of  Town, 
who  worked  at  Du  Fossats'. 

"  Why  doan'  you  smile  at  me,  honey  ?  "  he  de 
manded  teasingly. 


Sugar  and  Spice  153 

"  'Cause  ef  I  gits  pleasant,  you  gits  so  sassy,  boy. 
An'  I  jess  has  teh  stand  fo'  yo'  shortcomin's  ef  I  helps 
you  to  dem." 

"  You'se  a  mighty  sassy  gal,  yo'se'f ." 

"  G'long,  boy !  You's  a  triflin'  nigger.  Lemme 
by!  I'se  got  teh  go  do  ma  work  fo'  Miss  Euph'- 
seen." 

"  She's  de  las'  pusson  on  dis  yearth,  Td  do  any 
work  fo'.  She  jess  lets  our  pore  li'l  Miss  'Gostine  set 
an'  cry  all  de  time, —  when  she  thinks  nobody  ain' 
lookin'.  Reg'lar  ole  pepper-pot ! " 

Melindy  had  a  fine  sense  of  loyalty. 

"  Shet  up,  boy !  "  said  she,  "  Miss  Euph'seen  doan' 
make  Miss  'Gostine  cry  'tall.  She  doan'  nebber  go' 
teh  de  Du  Fossats'  'tall.  I  done  heard  Miss  Carrie 
say  so." 

"  No ;  —  da's  jess  it.  7  done  heard  Miss  'Gostine 
cry  to  herse'f ,  *  All  our  trouble  would  be  ober  ef  Aunt 
Euph'seen  would  come  back  an'  keep  her  word ! ' 
Now,  den !  When  you  gwine-a  be  ma  gal  ?  " 

"  Doan'  wait  f o'  dat  day,"  said  Melindy,  "  you 
might  wear  out  yo'  patience  in  about  a  million  years. 
G'bye,  boy ! " 

Melindy  went  on  her  way  smiling  at  her  own  success 
ful  rejoinder.  But  she  was  troubled.  She  had  felt 
Miss  Agostine's  sorrows  in  the  wind,  had  seen  her  dis 
tress  when  she  had  come  to  Nathalie  for  comfort. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  Miss  Euphrosyne  really  was 
responsible? 


154  Melindy 

Melindy  quickened  her  steps  as  she  approached 
Miss  Euphrosyne's  house.  For  she  feared  that  she 
was  late. 

Miss  Euphrosyne  thought  so  too,  and  stood  wait 
ing  in  the  garden  with  a  grim  look  of  disapproval  on 
her  face. 

"  What  kept  you  ?  "  she  snapped. 

"  I  —  I  did,"  timidly  replied  the  truthful  Melindy. 

"Haven't  you  been  taught  the  value  of  prompt 
ness?" 

"  Yas'm.  But  it's  much  easier  teh  teach  me  dan  it 
is  fo'  me  teh  learn,"  sighed  Melindy,  ruefully. 

Miss  Euphrosyne  smiled.  "  Get  the  cans,"  said 
she  grimly,  "and  make  up  for  the  delay  by  hurry 
ing  now." 

Melindy's  thoughts  would  have  greatly  astonished 
the  crotchety  lady,  could  she  have  read  them.  The 
observant  child  had  seen  her  smile  and  decided,  "  No ; 
she  didn9  mean  teh  hurt  Miss  'Gostine.  She  ain't 
real  sour;  jess  a  li'l  bit  curdled." 

When  Melindy  came  down  the  path  with  the  filled 
cans,  however,  she  very  nearly  changed  her  verdict 
for  a  more  severe  one. 

Miss  Euphrosyne's  eyes  were  blazing  and  her  hands 
clenched  and  her  lips  pressed  close.  Another  tall  old 
lady,  leaning  on  a  cane,  stood  before  her,  talking  ve 
hemently. 

"  You  may  like  it,  or  you  may  leave  it,  Eu 
phrosyne,"  she  was  saying,  "  but  I  tell  you  it  is  shame 
ful,  shameful!  I  know  that  Agostine  would  have 


Sugar  and  Spice  155 

been  asked  to  be  Lucia  Pemberly's  bridesmaid,  only 
Lucia  felt  that  it  would  be  too  great  a  sacrifice  for 
Mme.  Du  Fossat  to  buy  her  a  frock.  The  whole 
family  is  sacrificed  for  the  boys'  education.  And  I 
know  well  that  Du  Fossat  has  had  some  sort  of  busi 
ness  trouble  and  that  young  Gerald  Haviland  helped 
him  through  it." 

"  That  is  not  true,  Alice  Lamberton,  and  would 
be  no  business  of  yours  if  it  were.  Good-day  to 
you ! " 

"  I'm  not  going,  Euphrosyne.  If  you  go  into  the 
house  I  shall  follow  you  there.  It  isn't  my  busi 
ness,  but  it  is  yours  and  I-am-going-to-see-that-you- 
realize  it," — tapping  the  ground  with  her  stick  to 
emphasize  every  word.  "  I'd  not  say  this  to  any 
one  else.  But  it's  plain  as  day  to  me,  living  next 
door  to  Agostine  and  seeing  her  heart  plainly  on  her 
sleeve,  that  she  is  fond  of  Gerald  Haviland. 

"  If  Haviland  has  loaned  money  to  Du  Fossat,  you 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  the  old  blind  badger  won't 
let  him  approach  Agostine  until  it's  paid.  It  never 
will  be  paid !  " 

"  How  dare  you ! "  shrilled  Miss  Euphrosyne. 
"  How  dare  you !  You  insult  me !  Du  Fossats  al 
ways  pay  their  debts." 

"  When  they  have  the  money,  they  do.  And  when 
they  have  rich  and  selfish  relatives  who  care  more  for 
their  own  dignity  than  for  their  niece's  happiness, 
they  don't.  And,  now,  good-day  to  you,  Eu 
phrosyne  ! " 


156  Melin3y 

And  the  frank  and  emphatic  old  lady  limped  down 
the  path,  leaving  her  outraged  hostess  blind  with 
anger. 

Miss  Euphrosyne  sailed  past  Melindy  and  her 
watering  cans,  into  the  house. 

The  child  stood,  perplexed.  When  Miss  Eu 
phrosyne  did  not  return,  she  watered  the  garden  alone, 
watered  it  with  an  appropriate  accompaniment  of 
tears  from  her  sympathetic  and  emotional  heart. 

"  Goodness,"  she  thought,  "  I  wush  I'd-a  stayed 
home,  whar  folks  is  happy  an'  kine.  These  hyah  ole 
ladies  suttinly  is  edgy  enough  teh  cut  yo'  fingers  on. 
Pore  dear  Miss  Euph'seen !  I  wonders  ef  she  is  such 
a  debbil?" 

The  garden  seemed  large  to  her  unaided  efforts. 
The  sun  had  quite  gone  down  when  she  had  completed 
her  task. 

She  dared  not  go  home  without  being  dismissed  and 
she  did  not  like  to  leave  Miss  Euphrosyne  in  tears 
without  offering  consolation. 

She  went  into  the  kitchen  to  ask  Aunt  Clem's  ad 
vice  in  her  dilemma. 

"  Aunt  Clem,"  she  queried,  "  kin  I  go  up  teh  see 
Miss  Euph'seen?  " 

"  No,  you  cayn't.  Doan'  you  know  Miss  Eu- 
phrosyne's  habbin'  one  ob  her  tantrums  ?  Cayn't  you 
hear  her  a-cryin*  an'  a-moanin'  an'  carryin'  on,  up 
dar?  Nobody  nebber  goes  nigh  her  when  she's  lak 
dat ;  an'  doan'  you  do  it ! " 

Crying  and  moaning  and  nobody  near  her!     That 


Sugar  and  Spice  157 

had  a  very  desolate  sound  to  the  tender-hearted  Me- 
lindy. 

She  waited  until  Aunt  Clem  had  disappeared  into 
the  provision  pantry.  Then  she  boldly  went  through 
the  house  and  up  the  stairs.  No  one  should  cry  un- 
comforted  when  Melindy  was  in  hearing. 

Her  fear  of  Miss  Euphrosyne  still  made  her  drag 
her  steps.  But,  perhaps,  the  deep,  sweet  secret  of 
Melindy 's  light  but  universal  charm  lay  near  the  fact 
that  tears,  repellent  to  most  of  us,  were  irresistible 
magnets  to  this  comforting  little  soul. 

Miss  Euphrosyne  lay  on  the  bed, —  a  towel  under 
her  feet  to  protect  the  coverlet  —  very  near  hys 
teria,  sobbing  and  crying  aloud. 

Melindy's  knock  was  unheard.  She  squeezed 
through  the  half -opened  door, —  not  daring  to  open  it 
further  unhid  —  and  approached  the  bed  on  tiptoe. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  Miss  Euph'seen,"  she  said, 
"  please,  ma'am,  let  me  comfort  you !  " 

Miss  Euphrosyne  sat  bolt  upright  and  looked  at 
her,  looked  in  a  sort  of  a  daze.  A  strange  be 
wildered  sweetness  came  into  her  face.  To  comfort 
her!  Nobody  had  thought  of  that,  nobody  had 
offered  comfort  or  sincere  liking  to  the  lonely  and 
formidable  old  lady  in  many,  many  years. 

Miss  Euphrosyne  fell  back  upon  her  pillow  and 
gave  way  to  a  flood  of  warm,  quiet  and  quieting,  nor 
mal  tears.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Melindy. 

Melindy  stroked  it  gently  in  silence.  When  Miss 
luphrosyne  lay  still  and  calm,  she  went  softly  to 


158  Melindy 

the  dressing  table,  found  the  inevitable  bottle  of  sal 
'volatile.  This  she  brought  to  her  patient,  with  a 
subdued  enjoyment  of  the  importance  of  her  posi 
tion. 

"  Miss  Euph'seen,"  said  she,  "  doan'  you  feel  bad 
'bout  what  Miss  Lamberton  said.  She  doan'  un'er- 
stan'  dat  you  doan'  know  'bout  po'  Miss  'Gostine. 
Nobody  un-erstan's  but  me, —  I'se  dat  smaht !  I 
knows  you  jess  wishes  Miss  'Gostine  an'  her  pa  would 
come  tell  you  when  dey  has  troubles.  Only  you  didn' 
think  teh  let  'em  know  you  wished  it." 

Miss  Euphrosyne's  eyes  opened  wide  at  this  in 
sight.  It  was  quite  true.  She  who  had  made  con 
fidence  difficult  had  felt  aggrieved  because  she  did 
not  receive  it.  She  had  not  believed  it  possible  that 
the  Du  Fossats  would  get  into  real  difficulties  with 
out  appealing  to  her,  though  she  knew  that  she  had 
not  made  herself  a  ready  subject  for  appeal. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Miss  Agostine's 
troubles  ?  "  she  asked  sharply. 

Had  it  come  to  this, —  that  the  Du  Fossats'  affairs 
were  discussed  in  kitchens? 

"  Nothin'  much,  honey,  nothin'  much,"  replied  Me 
lindy  with  quick  intuition,  "  an'  I  on'y  knows  dat 
'cause  I'se  so  smaht  an'  I  laks  Miss  'Gostine, —  an'  you 
too,  Miss  Euph'seen.  You  is  kine.  You  doesn' 
really  lub  to  be  prickly." 

Miss  Euphrosyne  winced. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Miss  Agostine  ?  "  she 
insisted. 


Sugar  and  Spice  159 

Melindy  told  all  she  knew  of  Agostine's  distress 
and  illness  during  her  hurried  visit  to  Nathalie ;  how 
Nathalie  had  sent  her  home  in  the  carriage ;  how  she, 
Melindy,  had  seen  Nathalie  run  at  once  to  General 
Haviland's  cottage  and  on  her  return  wait  eagerly 
for  Gerald;  how  Melindy  overheard  Gerald  say  next 
day  that  now  he  could  not  see  Miss  Agostine,  though 
all  would  be  well  if  Miss  Euphrosyne  would  only  keep 
her  promise.  All  of  which  had  meant  nothing  con 
secutive  to  Melindy  until  her  presence  during  Mrs. 
Lamberton's  attack  that  morning. 

"  An'  den,  dat  no-'count  nigger  boy  ob  Miss 
'Gostine's,  he  shoot  off  his  mouf  a  li'l  bit,  too.  But 
none  ob  us  is  a-gwine-a  pay  no  'tention  teh  what  he 
say. 

"Now,  honey,  dear!  It's  jess  'cause  dey  doan' 
know  how  lubly  and  sweet  you  is  dat  dey's  all  so 
crazy.  Why,  eben  Aunt  Clem, —  she  say  you  didn't 
want  nobody  up  hyah  when  you's  cryin'.  But  I  jess 
knowed  you  wuz  pinin'  for  somebody  teh  lub  you, 
ef  'twuz  only  po'  li'l  Melindy.  Dis  hyah's  sech  a 
big  house  teh  be  all  alone  inl  Doan'  you  want  me 
teh  stop  at  Miss  'Gostine's  on  ma  way  home  an'  say 
dat  you's  feelin'  poorly  and  wants  yo'  li'l  niece  teh 
come  lub  you?  "  

Miss  Euphrosyne  nodded. 

She  was  seeing  into  her  own  soul,  prickles  and  all, 
as  she  had  never  seen  it  before. 

Her  remorse  was  likely  to  be  uncomfortable,  her 
struggles  with  herself  would  probably  be  long  and 


160  Melindy 

hard.  But  she,  too,  saw  in  her  own  spirit  the  buried 
kindness  and  love-hunger  that  little  Melindy  found 
there.  She  determined  to  believe  in  and  trust  that 
vision. 

The  next  afternoon  when  Melindy  arrived  to  water 
the  garden,  Miss  Euphrosyne  lay  in  the  hammock 
on  the  secluded  porch.  Mrs.  Lamberton  sat  beside 
her,  busy  with  some  intricate  embroidery. 

Agostine  Du  Fossat  stood  at  the  gateway,  receiv 
ing  a  box  from  the  florist's  boy. 

"  For  me !  "  she  cried  delightedly.  "  It  is  addressed 
to  me!" 

She  and  Melindy  mounted  the  steps  together,  Agos 
tine  opening  the  box  in  transit. 

"  Oh !  Beautiful !  "  she  cried,  displaying  a  mass  of 
exquisite  orchids. 

"  From  Gerald  Haviland !  "  she  said  in  an  ecstatic 
whisper,  lifting  his  card  from  the  box. 

"  Oh !  ho !  "  Mrs.  Lamberton  exclaimed,  proudly, 
mysteriously.  "  You  may  thank  me  for  that,  Agos- 
stine!" 

Miss  Euphrosyne  laid  a  warning  finger  across  her 
lips  and  smiled  —  and  winked  —  at  Melindy. 


CHAPTER  XI 

FOOD  AND  FAMINE 

MR.  MANDEVTLLE'S  shyness  was  not  overcome  all 
at  once.  To  the  little  ones,  he  was  always  hospitable, 
welcoming,  extending  his  courtesy  even  to  Remus  and 
Ramus  who  often  followed  in  Melindy's  train. 

The  quiet  hours  in  the  dim  library  or  the  tangled 
garden  became  a  part  of  the  children's  lives,  an  al 
most  daily  institution. 

But  their  host  still  found  sudden  business  in  his 
study  and  locked  himself  into  seclusion,  when  any 
adult  member  of  the  family  was  expected  to  come 
to  take  his  guests  to  their  home,  and  the  visits  of  Miss 
Carrie  and  Marse  George  had  never  been  returned  by 
him. 

Miss  Carrie  felt  certain  that  only  bashfulness  now 
detained  him.  But  Marse  George, —  whose  profes 
sional  experience  reinforced  a  deep  natural  intuition 
and  made  him  a  wise  judge  of  men, — perceived  some 
other  cause. 

"  I  should  say,"  said  he,  "  that  some  suffering  had 
given  him  a  definite  distaste  of  his  kind,  a  distaste 
hard  to  overcome.  It  makes  me  sorry.  I  always  feel 
as  though  something  ought  to  be  done  about  it.  But 
one  cannot  intrude." 

161 


162  Melindy 

Mr.  Mandeville's  personality,  even  so  faintly 
touched,  had  an  appeal.  There  was  a  sweetness  and 
helplessness  about  him  quite  unaccompanied  by  weak 
ness.  On  the  contrary,  one  felt  a  latent  strength, — 
patience,  self-control,  endurance  with  an  impression 
of  something  more  militant  behind  them. 

Indeed,  Melindy  expressed  it  well  when  she  said, 
"  Marse  Mandeville's  so  tame  an'  gentle  dat  it 
wouldn'  do  teh  let  everybody  ride  him.  Some  folks 
would  drive  him  too  hahd  an'  hurt  him  an'  git  hurted. 
He  doan'  even  know  how  teh  scole  you  when  you's 
bad.  He  scoles  so  polite  lak  a  puffick  stranger. 
Now  ma  Miss  Euph'seen,  she  kin  scole  you  lak  you 
was  her  kin.  She  scoles  lak  her  heaht  was  in  it.  But 
dis  ar  Marse  Mandeville,  he  gits  angry  lak  he  couldn' 
bear  de  heat." 

Her  mistress  and  master  were  greatly  astonished 
one  evening  when  Mr.  Mandeville's  severe  English 
butler  came  up  the  garden  path  and  waited  upon 
them  upon  the  steps  of  the  porch. 

The  evening  was  still  and  sweet.  The  jasmine  and 
the  roses  breathed  into  the  air  without  motion,  the 
rising  golden  moon  seemed  to  hang  poised  in  the 
heavens  and  the  silent  servitor  of  Mr.  Mandeville 
stood  as  motionless  as  the  landscape,  offering  a  letter 
to  Marse  George. 

The  letter  was  brief. 

"  I  have  to  go  away,"  it  said.  "  Please  manage 
my  affairs  until  I  return.  All  necessary  documents 
herewith.  Give  Peter  the  Wonder  Book  I  promised 


Food  and  Famine  163 

him, —  charge  to  me.  Tell  Melindy  I  hope  she  will 
learn  to  cook  as  I  advised.  Good  wishes!  If  I  do 
not  return,  you  will  find  instructions." 

Marse  George, —  as  became  the  father  of  Eulalia, 
•• — was  exceedingly  scrupulous.  He  fulfilled  his  new 
client's  instructions  even  to  the  detail  of  advising  Me 
lindy  to  learn  to  cook. 

"  Lawsy  me ! "  sighed  Melindy,  "  is  dat  a-axin'  or 
a-bossin',  Marse  George?  It  jess  does  seem  lak  de 
mo'  frien's  you's  got  de  mo'  bossin'  you  has  to  en 
dure.  Marse  Mandeville's  a  very  classable  gemp'- 
man,  teh  be  shore;  —  but  I  ain't  nebber  went  teh 
school  teh  him,  is  I,  Marse  George?  Sho'  am  funny, 
too !  He  wouldn'  know  good  cookin'  f 'um  bad ;  he's 
so  dreamy.  What  claim  is  he  got  teh  make  a  cook 
outen  po'  li'l  me?  " 

"  How  did  Mr.  Mandeville  come  to  discuss  cookery 
with  you  ?  "  asked  her  master. 

"  Lemme  see,  sah!  I  disremembers  jess  how-come 
dat-ar  trouble  commence.  Oh!  Yassah.  I  knows 
now !  He  ax  us  is  we  hongry,  an'  I  'lowed  I  was  hon- 
gry;  an'  I  sho'  was!  An'  he  done  gin  us  some  bis 
cuits  an'  honey,  an'  I  didn'  care  how  I  et  up  dem  bis 
cuits.  But  I  warn't  onmannerly,  Marse  George. 
Only  I  didn'  insult  dem  biscuits  none  either.  An' 
Marse  Mandeville,  he  say,  *  Does  you  lak  biscuits, 
Melindy?'  an'  I  says,  'Yassah!'  an'  he  say,  'Li'l 
gals  dat  lubs  biscuits  ought  teh  know  how  teh  make 
dem,'  an'  I  says,  *  Yassah ! '  But  seems  teh  me, 
Marse  George,  lak  I  kin  enjoy  Sis  Suky's  biscuits  now 


164  Melindy 

a  good  deal  more'n  ef  I  had  teh  pound  de  dough. 

"  Jess  lak  once  was  a  boy  up  on  de  plantation  done 
lub  teh  hyear  music  so  much  dat  a  white  lady  gin  him 
a  cornet.  An'  atter  dat  he  sot  up  ebery  night  tryin' 
teh  ketch  his  bref  through  it;  an'  he  ain'  cotch  his 
bref  yit.  De  plantation's  jess  full  up  wif  folkses  es 
has  dey  opinion  ob  dat  kine  white  lady. 

"  Is  I  talkin'  too  much,  Marse  George  ?  " 

"  No,  child,"  laughed  her  master. 

"  But,"  put  in  Miss  Carrie,  "  Suky  has  long  wished 
to  teach  Melindy  a  few  simple  facts  about  cooking. 
See  if  you  cannot  learn  some  before  Mr.  Mandeville's 
return ;  you  can  please  Mr.  Mandeville  and  Suky  and 
me,  too,  by  learning  them,  Melindy." 

"  Thanky,  ma'am,"  said  Melindy,  smiling  and  sigh 
ing,  "  I'd  do  mos'  anything  teh  please  you,  Miss  Car 
rie,  honey.  Does  I  has  teh  eat  what  I  cooks  ?  " 

Sis  Suky,  grateful  for  the  pressure  from  without 
that  gave  her  her  long-sought  opportunity,  began 
the  lessons  at  once.  Therefore,  when  the  Twins  ar 
rived  at  the  kitchen  door  on  the  next  afternoon,  they 
found  Melindy  enveloped  in  a  huge  brown  apron  and 
so  sticky  with  paste  and  sprinkled  with  sugar  that 
she  looked  like  a  big  and  delectable  marron  glace. 

"  Come  in,  Remus !  Come  in,  Ramus !  "  she  said 
proudly.  "  I'se  takin'  a  cookin5  lesson.  Does  you-all 
want  teh  learn,  too  ?  " 

But,  "No,  'ndeedy!"  Sis  Suky  interjected  se 
verely,  "  I  got  ma  kitchen  messed  up  'nough  wif  one 
li'l  niggah ;  let  alone  three.  You  take  dem  tall  stools 


Food  and  Famine  165 

outen  de  closet,  Ramus,  an'  sot  dem  up  on  de  groim' 
outside  de  kitchen  winder ;  an'  dat'll  bring  you-all  up 
high  enough  teh  look  in  an'  watch  'thout  clutterin' 
up  de  place.  An'  doan'  talk  an'  sturb  Melindy.  But 
you  kin  sing  De  End  Is  Near,  ef  you  wants  teh. 
How's  yo'  Ma?" 

"  She's  well,  thanky,"  said  Remus. 

"  No'm,  she  ain't,"  said  Ramus. 

"How-come  she  ain't?" — Remus,  indignantly. 

"  Am'  she  done  thought  she  had  air-syrup-less  in 
her  laigs  when  she  come  home  las'  night?  Tell  me 
dat  now,  Remus  i" 

"  Done  thought  she  had  it ! "  quoted  Remus  scorn 
fully.  "  Her  bofe  foots  itched,  Miss  Suky,  but  when 
she  looked  teh  see  what  ailed  'em  dey  warn't  nothin' 
dar  but  itch.  She's  a'right,  thanky  ma'am." 

"  H'mm,  Ramus,  chile,"  said  Melindy,  "  cayn't  go 
by  thinkin's.  Sis  Suky  thinks  I'se  makin'  some  food ; 
but  looks  teh  me  lak  I'se  jess  makin'  a  mess." 

"  You's  makin'  a  heap  ob  was'e  time,"  said  Suky 
sternly.  "  Come  on,  now, —  stir  it  up !  So !  —  So ! 

—  So !     Not  s'  fas' !     Keerf ul !     Alluz  de  same  way ! 

—  So!" 

Melindy  sighed,  "Ma  ahm's  most  comin'  off,  Sis 
Suky,  now." 

"  You  Melindy,  ef  yo'  tongue  ain't  wo'  out  long 
ago,  I  reckon  yo'  ahm  kin  stan'  a  li'l  more  usin'. 
Keep  a-stirrin' ! " 

"  I  is,  Sis  Suky.  I'se  mos'  wound  it  up  tight.  I 
never  would-a  eat  nothin'  in  ma  life  ef  I'd  knowed  it 


166  Melindy 

war  sech  a  trouble,"  laughed  Melindy,  stirring.  "  Go 
'long,  Twinses!  Sis  Suky  say  you-all  kin  sing  De 
End  Is  Near.  I  hope  you-all  is  right  about  datj 
too." 

"  Don't  you  make  fun  ob  hymns,  Melindy.  Go 
on  sing,  Twinses !  " 

The  Twins  smiled  broadly  with  pleasure  at  the  in 
vitation  to  show  off  their  one  social  achievement. 
They  shut  their  eyes  tight.  Remus  bowed  her  head 
and  Ramus  bent  his  long  neck  backwards: 

"Come  along,  sinners, 
Quit  an'  come  along  1 " 

wailed  Remus. 

"'Cause  you  better  stop  an*  hear  — 
De  End  is  near!" 

growled  Ramus. 

That  was  all.  The  song  was  done.  The  Twins 
opened  their  eyes  and  restored  their  heads  to  the  per 
pendicular,  and  waited  for  applause. 

But  Suky  only  sighed,  a  deep  mournful  suspira- 
tion,  and  Melindy,  holding  her  dimples  in  check,  said 
naughtily,  "  Guess  dey  'spec's  ma  cookin'll  kill  'em, 
Sis.  An'  it  sho'  am  killin'  me. —  It's  stiff  es  a  new 
shoe,  now.  What  mus'  I  do  wif  it?  " 

The  Twins  looked  their  admiration  and  dutifully 
kept  silent  while  Suky  bustled  about  and  instructed 
Melindy. 

"  Dat's  right,"  said  Suky  proudly  at  last,  putting 


Food  and  Famine  167 

the  pan  into  the  oven.  "  Now,  den !  You's  learnin'. 
Dat  sho*  will  please  Marse  Mandeville." 

Melindy  knit  her  brows.  "  How-come  I  got  teh 
be  a  god-chile  ob  hisn,  Sis  Suky?  "  she  asked. 

"  You's  a  bad  gal,  Melindy,"  Suky  reproved. 
"  You  ought  teh  be  glad  Marse  Mandeville  takes  a 
intrus'  in  you." 

"  Everybody  lubs  Melindy !  "  that  popular  young 
person  exulted.  "  When  is  ma  Marse  Mandeville 
comin'  home,  Sis  Suky  ?  " 

"  How  kin  I  know  'bout  his  goin's  an'  comin's  ? 
Now  you  kin  go  play.  But  be  gentlefied  an'  doan' 
'sturb  de  white  folks." 

Every  few  days  the  cooking  lessons  were  continued, 
until  Melindy  had  some  triumphs  to  be  proud  of 
and  began  to  take  her  usual  joy  in  her  own  abilities. 

"  Wush  Marse  Mandeville'd  come  home,"  she  said. 
"  I'll  sho'  gib  him  a  good  feedin'.  He'll  be  so  glad 
dat  I  kin  cook  so  pritty." 

Marse  George  shared  her  desire  for  Mr.  Mandc- 
ville's  return.  As  the  weeks  went  by  without  a  sign 
or  sound  from  his  client,  the  words,  "  If  I  do  not  re 
turn,  you  will  find  instructions,"  began  to  alarm  him 
with  a  sinister  connotation.  Had  the  old  scholar's 
brooding,  lonely  life  deranged  him?  Was  he,  per 
haps,  wandering  and  in  danger, —  or  worse? 

The  English  butler  could  cast  no  light  upon  the 
situation.  His  master  had  received  a  letter  which 
had  seemingly  disturbed  him.  He  had  commanded 
him,  the  butler,  to  pack  a  small  satchel,  had  made 


168  Melindy 

it  clear  that  all  bills  would  be  paid  by  his  bank 
through  Marse  George,  and  had  departed.  He 
would  doubtless  return.  The  butler  was  not  in  the 
least  perturbed. 

Not  so  Melindy,  who  heard  the  continued  absence 
of  her  patron  discussed. 

"  Miss  Nat'lie,"  she  said,  "  you  jess  knows  dat 
Marse  Mandeville  ain't  no  mo'  fitten  teh  go  'round  by 
hisself  den  li'l  Missy  'Lalia  is.  It's  unusuble  fo' 
him  teh  go  gallivantin'.  An'  dat  powerful  lot  ob 
studyin'  an'  readin'  he  do  am'  good  fo'  nobody. 
Sometimes  folks  gits  so  much  sense  it  done  overcome 
dey  brain.  Well'm,  Melindy  kin  make  a  li'l  cohn- 
pone  fo'  him,  when  he  do  come." 

Burning  to  display  her  new  art,  Melindy  brought 
one  of  her  "  own-made "  corn-pones  as  a  gift  to 
General  Haviland. 

She  found  the  General  in  his  garden.  It  was  early 
in  the  day  and  his  riotous  morning-glories  boasted 
their  pale  splendor  among  the  dark  leaves  and  myriad 
shining  blossoms  of  the  white  star-jasmine.  "  Night 
and  Morning,"  Robert  called  their  trellis.  But  Gen 
eral  Haviland  said  it  symbolized  to  him  pale,  fleeting 
hopes  and  the  constant  crown  of  all-day-long  en 
deavor. 

The  General  was  gathering  white  roses.  A  great 
palmetto  basket,  filled  with  them,  lay  on  the  path 
beside  him,  and  his  garden  shears  snipped  long  clus 
ters  from  the  branch  he  was  holding. 

"  The  white  roses  of  the  South,  multitudinous,  gen- 


Food  and  Famine  169 

erous,  faulty, —  so  eager  to  bloom  freely  they  can 
not  wait  for  perfection, —  giving,  giving,  giving ! 
Thorny,  too,  but  prodigal  in  fragrance!  How  like 
your  spirit,  my  poor  Carlos ! "  mused  the  General 
aloud,  unconscious  of  Melindy. 

"  Did  you  spoke,  Gin'al  Haviland  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  blushed  when  he  saw  her  and  when  he  perceived 
her  knowledge  that  his  eyes  were  damp  with  tears. 

"  I  have  lost  a  friend,  Melindy,"  he  explained 
frankly.  "A  dear  friend  is  dead.  Come!  You 
shall  help  me  put  these  flowers  beside  his  portrait." 

Melindy's  sympathy, —  that  teacher  of  true  deli 
cacy  that  makes  her  superlatively  sympathetic  race 
the  richest  of  all  peoples  in  tact  and  courteous  re 
straint, —  kept  her  from  dwelling  on  her  gift,  the 
cornpone,  at  this  pathetic  moment. 

She  said  merely,  "  Yassah,  Gin'al.  Thanky,  sah. 
Jess  wait  a  minute  while  I  brings  de  cook  dis-ar  cohn- 
pone  I  done  made  you." 

She  helped  the  General  pile  the  mass  of  roses  be 
fore  a  faded  old  portrait,  taken  in  the  earlier  days  of 
the  photographic  art. 

A  tall,  slender,  dark  man, —  very  young  in  the  very 
old  portrait, —  with  fire  in  his  pose,  fire  in  his  kindling 
glance,  fire  in  his  grip  upon  the  carved-ivory-headed 
riding-whip  he  carried,  fire  in  the  backward  sweep  of 
his  waving  hair,  stood  before  her.  The  spirit  was 
so  glowing,  the  action  of  the  young  figure  so  alight, 
that  the  years  that  faded  the  picture  had  brought 
no  dimness  to  the  impression  of  the  subject. 


170  Melindy; 

"  It  has  been  twenty  years  since  we  met, —  nay ! 
nearer  thirty ! "  said  General  Haviland. 

And  Melindy  surprised  him  by  replying,  "  Daf's 
queer.  'Cause  I'se  jess  shore  Fse  done  seen  dat 
gempman  somewhars.  An'  he  warn't  a  ole  gempman, 
neither." 

"  Impossible !  "  said  General  Haviland. 

But  Melindy  knew  that  she  had  seen  those  luminous, 
piercing  eyes,  those  proudly  smiling  lips,  that  black 
cloud  of  hair  defiant  of  conventional  restrictions. 

"  I'se  sorry  f o'  you,  Gin'al  Haviland,  I  sho'  is," 
she  said.  "  I'se  kind  o'  feared  I'se  los'  a  frien',  too. 
I  ain'  quite  los'  him  yit,  but  I'se  kind  o'  feared  I'se 
losin'  him." 

The  courtly  General  gave  condolence  in  his 
turn. 

"  Is  your  little  friend  ill,  Imp  ?  "  he  asked  kindly. 

"I  dunno,  sah.  He  ain't  here.  He's  jess  gone. 
An'  it  ain't  a  li'l  frien',  Gin'al.  Ain't  you  heard  tell 
dat  ma  frien',  Marse  Mandeville,  done  disappeared 
away?" 

"  Mandeville !  Mandeville ! "  the  General  shouted, 
"not  Mr.  Ebers  Mandeville!  Present  the  report!" 
commanded  the  old  soldier,  using  military  phrase  in 
his  excitement. 

Melindy,  in  her  element  as  the  instigator  of  ap 
parent  sensation,  told  the  General  about  the  strange 
departure  of  her  friend  and  patron,  and  Marse 
George's  consequent  anxiety. 

The  General  got  his  cane  and  soft  Confederate 


Food  and  Famine  171 

hat,  while  she  was  telling  the  story,  and  then,  without 
another  word  to  Melindy,  accompanied  her  home. 

Marse  George  stood  in  the  doorway  surrounded 
by  the  family  in  the  midst  of  their  morning  ceremony 
of  leave-taking. 

"  I  done  fetched  Gin'al  Haviland,"  announced  Me 
lindy. 

"  George,"  said  the  General  laconically,  "  you  must 
give  me  a  moment.  Concerning  Ebers  Mandeville. 
Thank  you,  I  will  sit  down ;  it's  a  long  story.  Stay, 
of  course,  Caroline  and  Nathalie,  lass.  I  know  you 
are  much  interested." 

"  We  were  about  to  sit  here  with  our  sewing," 
said  Miss  Carrie.  "  Wait,  Melindy.  You  must  sit 
on  the  steps  and  string  beads  for  me.  We  shall  need 
them.  All  the  beads  clattered  off  of  Nathalie's  pret 
tiest  gown,"  she  explained  to  the  General,  "  and  it  is 
indeed  a  disciplinary  task  to  sew  the  strands  on 
again." 

The  General  smiled  politely,  absently. 

"  George,"  he  began,  "  I  understand  that  Mande 
ville  is  a  client,  something  of  a  friend, —  as  much  as 
he  is  to  any  one.  Am  I  right?  Ah!  Then  I  may 
tell  you.  I  entreat  your  circumspection,  ladies, — • 
and  am  sure  of  it. 

"  H'm'm !  When  we  were  youths,  Mandeville  and 
I, —  that  was  the  time  when  young  Beauregard  was 
dazzling  us  with  his  youthful  promise, —  there  was  a 
plantation  right  here  on  this  spot,  Caroline, —  good, 
old  leisurely  times, —  no  better  than  these,  though,— 


172  Melindy 

not  so  good,  maybe, —  that's  the  time  this  story  be 
gins. 

"  Well,  Ebers  Mandeville  and  I  were  like  brothers. 
West  Point  for  me  and  U.  of  V.  for  him  and  the  great 
differences  in  our  tastes  couldn't  divide  us  in  the 
least.  He  was  always  the  scholar, —  but  no  recluse 
like  now.  Indeed,  he  liked  the  ladies, —  very  sus 
ceptible, —  always  softening  hither  and  yon.  We 
have  changed  roles  there,  too ! " 

The  General  smiled. 

"Nowadays,  /  enjoy,  even  require,  friendships 
with  the  fair;  but  in  youth  I  was  no  ladies'  man. 
My  one  affaire  came  late  in  life  and  lasted ! " 

The  General  rose  for  a  moment  and  bowed  rever 
ently.  Nathalie,  too,  bent  her  head. 

"  Mandeville  as  a  lad,"  the  narrator  continued, 
"  saw  the  heroines  of  poesy  in  every  good-looking 
lass.  But  they  always  undid  the  bewitchment  them 
selves  and  lost  him  on  the  rebound  the  moment  they 
showed  themselves  at  all  human.  That's  why  his 
companions  thought  it  all  the  more  remarkable  when 
the  quiet,  poetic  fellow  was  at  last  completely  and 
decisively  bowled  over  by  a  very  human  young  lady 
who  had  nothing  poetic  about  her. 

"  She  was  handsome,  to  be  sure,  in  a  tall,  boyish, 
angular  fashion.  She  was  intensely  practical  and 
managed  her  father's  affairs  so  well  that  he  was  al 
most  the  only  planter  in  his  district  who  was  not 
cleaned  out  by  the  downfall  of  the  Confederacy  and 
the  Reconstruction.  Indeed,  his  fortune  grew  — " 


Food  and  Famine  173 

"English   securities?"   asked  Marse  George. 

"  Exactly !  —  She  was  the  most  capable  of  house 
keepers  and  used  the  gentler  accomplishments  on 
sufferance, —  only  because  they  were  the  way  of  the 
times.  My  honored  father  used  to  say  that  she 
played  the  pianoforte  exactly  as  if  she  were  all  the 
time  considering  whether  it  needed  dusting." 

A  laugh  greeted  this,  and  the  General  gallantly 
hastened  to  modify  the  impression. 

"  To  be  sure,  she  had  a  crisp,  epigrammatic,  very 
enjoyable  humor  of  a  type  unusual  in  women,  and  was 
a  person  upon  whom  less  clearly  defined  natures  nat 
urally  depended.  There  was  a  breeziness  about  her, 
a  security  and  freshness  not  general  among  Southern 
ladies  of  the  period.  At  any  rate,  her  personality 
had  its  effect  upon  the  jeunnesse  doree.  §he  made 
more  killings  than  any  of  the  radiant,  languishing 
belles  hereabout. 

"  Ebers  adored  her.  Wrote  her  poetry  by  the 
ream.  She  kept  memoranda  on  the  backs  of  the 
sheets  and  returned  the  surplus  white  paper,  with  the 
advice  that  extravagant  habits  in  small  things  made 
great  losses  in  time." 

"  Our  poor  Mr.  Mandeville !  "  pitied  Marse  George, 
laughing. 

"  The  lad  saw  her  essential  virtue,"  continued  the 
General,  "  her  keen  honor  and  love  of  justice.  She 
was  intolerant  of  any  slightest  lapse  of  the  manly 
code.  A  very  great  girl  in  many  ways! 

"  She  engaged  herself  to  Ebers,  in  secret  and  on 


174  Melindy 

probation.  She  said  she  was  not  sure  of  herself. 
He  was  to  understand  her  perfect  freedom  to  follow 
a  greater  call  if  it  came, —  and  so  she  would  under 
stand  his.  A  strange  engagement  that  had  no  com 
pensation  for  poor  love-lorn  Ebers  except  a  faint 
hope.  In  justice  let  me  say,  it  was  he  who  sug 
gested  the  arrangement  and  so  insisted  upon  it  that 
she  consented,  seeing  no  good  reason  to  decline." 

"  That  couldn't  last,  of  course,"  said  Nathalie, 
and  blushed  as  her  hearers  smiled  at  her  newly  ac 
quired  authority  in  matters  of  the  heart. 

"  It  went  well  enough  for  a  time,"  said  General 
Haviland,  "  and  might  have  forever, —  but  then  my 
friend, —  my  dear  friend — .  Forgive  me,  ladies; 
news  of  his  death  came  to-day ! "  He  hastened  on, 
forestalling  expressions  of  sympathy,  "  One  who  had 
been  a  messmate  and  friend  in  the  North, —  a  noble 
Spaniard  from  the  Indies, — came  to  New  Orleans  to 
visit  me. 

"  His  given  name  was  Carlos  and  will  suffice  for 
the  story. 

"  He  was  the  exact  opposite  of  Ebers.  Handsome 
as  the  night,  glorious  and  flashing  as  the  lightning, 
brave,  tempestuous,  temperamental,  intense  in  his 
emotions,  graced  with  every  charm,  he  gathered  all 
women's  hearts  with  serene  unconsciousness. 

"  He  first  saw  Ebers's  fiancee  at  a  dance.  She  was 
not  at  her  best  at  a  dance.  He  gave  a  long  glance 
and  said  to  me  simply,  '  What  a  mother  of  sons ! ' 

"  He  loved  her  at  once  and  forever.     He  did  not 


Food  and  Famine  175 

know,  of  course,  of  her  Betrothal ;  but  I  cannot  think 
it  would  have  changed  his  feeling  if  he  had.  He, 
too,  had  been  betrothed, —  in  childhood,  by  his  par 
ents,  to  a  South  American  cousin  whom  he  had  seldom 
seen.  But  Carlos  had  become  Americanized  and 
often  expressed  to  me  his  determination  to  make  his 
own  choice. 

"  The  lady  of  my  story  felt  Carlos's  gaze  upon  her 
and  turned  to  meet  it.  Then  I  saw  a  miracle.  A 
plain  woman  transformed  to  beauty  in  an  instant  of 
time! 

"  The  bond  grew  quickly  between  them. 

"  Ebers,  in  his  blindness,  perceived  nothing.  He 
was  not  on  the  alert.  He  had  come  to  feel  a  false  se 
curity,  due  to  his  lady's  continued  and  even  growing 
favor.  He  thought  so  well-defined  a  character  as 
hers  would  not  have  made  him  even  the  half -promise 
unless  he  were  elect. 

"  Ebers  himself  became  enamored  of  Carlos.  He 
made  him  his  hero,  his  prince  of  romance,  worshiped 
him  with  that  warm  idolatry  of  youth.  Alas!  He 
so  loved  and  trusted  him  that  in  a  moment  of  weak 
ness  he  broke  his  pact  of  silence  and  confided  to  Car 
los  his  betrothal. 

"  Carlos  left  New  Orleans  that  night,  never  to  re 
turn.  He  wrote  a  note  to  the  lady  announcing  his 
approaching  marriage  to  the  South  American 
cousin." 

"  How  tragic ! "  cried  Miss  Carrie,  and  slipped  her 
hand  into  her  husband's. 


176  Melindy 

"The  lady  sensed  the  truth  immediately,"  the 
story  went  on,  "  and  sent  for  Ebers,  who,  of  course, 
confessed. 

"  She  berated  him  in  bitterest  terms.  '  Traitor,5 
she  called  him, '  ungallant,' '  false,'  and  sent  him  away, 
—  to  Oxford,  to  Heidelburg,  to  his  books  and  their 
dry  comfort. 

"  He  implored  forgiveness.  '  Oh !  Let  me  make 
it  up  to  you,'  he  pled  weakly.  I  have  the  tale  from 
Ebers. 

" '  Not  to  me !  Make  it  up  to  'him!  '  she  cried. 
c  Then  I  will  forgive  you, —  when  you  have  made  it 
up  to  him!  J 

"  That  was  poor  Ebers's  first  knowledge  that  these 
two  great  creatures  loved  each  other. 

"  Mandeville  wrote  at  once  to  Carlos,  explaining, 
begging  his  return.  It  was  too  late.  The  impetuous 
Carlos  was  wedded  when  the  letter  reached  him. 
'  When  I  can  forgive  you  for  telling  me  your  be 
trothal  and  not  its  conditions,'  he  wrote  in  his  agony, 
'  I  will  send  for  you.  Until  then,  no  word ! '  " 

There  was  a  deep  sympathetic  silence.  Then  the 
General  resumed,  "  Word  came  to  me  to-day  that  my 
splendid  Carlos  is  dead.  So  I  came  at  once  to  tell 
you,  George,  the  possible  whereabouts  of  your  client. 
He  probably  received  a  summons  at  last, —  he  has 
waited  years  of  days, —  and  went  to  Carlos  in  the 
islands." 

"  Thank  you,  General  Haviland,"  said  Marse 
George  gravely. 


Food  and  Famine  177 

"  What  a  sad,  sad  tale !  "  said  Nathalie. 

"  Poor  Mr.  Mandeville ! "  sighed  Miss  Carrie. 

"Yes'm!"  wept  the  forgotten  Melindy  from  the 
step,  "  an'  po'  Miss  Euph'seen,  too ! " 

The  General  sprang  upright.  "  I  did  not  say  — " 
he  cried  excitedly, — "  I  did  not  say  the  lady's  name !  " 

"  No,  sah !  No,  sah ;  you  didn' !  Oh !  'Scuse  me, 
sah !  "  said  Melindy.  "  But  I  thought  ev'body  must-a 
knowed  it  was  Miss  Euph'seen  from  de  very  minute 
she  looked  at  de  dust  on  de  pianner  and  sont  back  de 
extra  paper  from  de  poems  I " 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  MESSENGER  OF  THE  GODS 

IT  was  raining,  a  soft  drizzle,  light  but  persistent. 

Melindy  was  looking  out  of  the  window  at  a  fat 
sparrow  who  was  pecking  desperately  at  the  yellow 
Japan  plums, —  apparently  indifferent  to  his  wet  and 
clinging  plumage. 

"  H'm,"  she  remarked,  "  dat-ar  bird  suttinly  de 
serves  teh  git  on  in  de  world,  keepin'  so  busy  even  in 
de  rain !  Jess  lak  ole  Br'er  Jimson,  over  on  de  plan 
tation.  He  useteh  lay  under  de  tree,  rain  or  shine, 
jess  as  patient,  day  after  day,  waitin'  fo'  somebody 
teh  come  on  down  de  road  an'  offer  him  some  work 
teh  do.  An'  ev'ybody  but  him  done  gave  up  hope 
and  said  no  work  nebber  would  come  less'n  he  got  up 
and  look  f  o'  it.  But  ole  Br'er  Jimson,  he  say,  *  I'll 
jess  set  hyah  an'  wait,'  an'  one  day  ole  Col.  Ranger 
did  come  'long  and  engaged  Br'er  Jimson  teh  chop 
and  saw  up  some  hard  wood  fo'  him.  An'  ev'ybody 
say  it  done  serve  Br'er  Jimson  right." 

"  What  did  he  live  on  before  he  got  the  work  at 
the  Colonel's  ?  "  asked  Nathalie  from  the  rug,  where 
she  sat  with  Eulalia  stringing  beads. 

"  On  his  wife's  cooking.  You  see,  Sis  Clara  Jim- 
178 


~A  Messenger  of  the  Gods          179 

son,  she  was  a  good  washerwoman,  made  good  wages. 
An*  when  she  warn't  doin'  f olkses'  laundry,  why,  den, 
she  useteh  cook  cohn-pone  an*  chickum  an'  cabbage 
an'  pork  an'  lots  ob  de  eatingest  things  fo'  ole  Br'er 
Jimson,  an'  he'd  come  in  an'  eat  'em. 

"  He  useteh  say  he  didn'  care  f  o'  sweets,  but  every 
time  he  step  nigh  de  ole  yaller  bowl  whar  Sis  Clara 
Jimson  kep'  her  pies  an'  cakes,  all  de  li'l  Jimson  chil- 
lums  began  teh  cry  an'  holler.  'Cause  dey  knowed 
it  was  *  Good-by,  cake ! '  fo'  dem. 

"  But  he  pretty  nigh  los'  his  good  times  one  day. 
'Cause  a  lady  from  up  No'th  she  tried  teh  persuade 
Sis  Clara  Jimson  teh  go  teh  New  York  wif  her.  But 
Sis  Clara  Jimson  didn'  go,  'cause  she  thought  she  was 
too  age-y  teh  learn  teh  speak  No'then." 

"  Learn  to  speak  Northern !  Why,  childy,  they 
speak  the  same  language  in  this  country,  North  or 
South!" 

"Do  dey,  Miss  Nat'lie?  Well,  Pse  jess  a-tellhr 
you  what  Sis  Clara  Jimson  thought.  An'  Br'er  Jim- 
son  he  jess  cried  fo'  joy,  when  dat  New  York  lady 
went  away. 

"  Is  Miss  'Gostine  done  gone  away,  Miss  Nat'lie?  " 

"Yes.  Mme.  Du  Fossat  and  Miss  Agostine  have 
gone  across  the  Lake,  for  awhile.  They  were  both 
feeling  languid.  We're  all  going  over  on  Friday  to 
spend  the  week-end  with  them, —  Miss  Eulalia  and 
you  and  I." 

"  Oh !  Goody !  "  cried  Eulalia.  "  And  when  it's 
not  bathing  time,  may  I  just  paddle,  Cousin  Nat'lie? 


180  Melindy 

'Cause  in  de  country  my  feet  get  much  dirtier  than 
I  am.  And  I  just  love  to  paddle." 

"  Across  the  Lake," —  over  Lake  Pontchartrain 
and  up  the  winding,  beautiful,  semi-tropical  river, 
the  Tchefuncta, —  were  lazy  little  towns  on  the  lake- 
shore  and  in  the  pine-woods. 

When  the  pressure  and  strain  of  their  financial 
anxieties  had  been  removed,  Mme.  Du  Fossat  and 
Agostine  were  very  near  nervous  collapse  and  went  to 
one  of  these  lotus-eating,  dozing  little  places  for  a 
rest. 

Agostine  attributed  her  family's  happier  circum 
stances  to  Miss  Euphrosyne's  help  and  to  some  mys 
terious  agency  of  Nathalie's  into  which  she  had  prom 
ised  not  to  inquire. 

Of  Gerald's  part  in  their  release,  her  parents  had 
told  her  nothing. 

It  seemed  to  Agostine  like  the  fulfillment  of  all  rap 
turous  dreams,  that  just  when  her  distress  for  her 
father  was  so  providentially  lifted,  Gerald  should  be 
come  her  devoted  attendant. 

She  hesitated,  however, —  impulsive  as  she  was, — 
to  give  herself  up  to  complete  hope  as  to  the  perma 
nence  of  her  charm  for  him.  Her  past  sorrow,  when 
his  earlier  interest  had  diminished  and  died,  taught 
her  to  save  herself  from  too  great  confidence  in  that 
mercurial  young  gentleman's  impetuosity. 

Diffidence  and  pensive  guardedness,  while  they  well 
became  Agostine  and  made  her  seem  even  more  to  be 
desired,  gave  Gerald  some  very  salutary  qualms. 


A  Messenger  of  the  Gods  181 

Was  Nathalie  mistaken  after  all?  Could  it  be 
that  Agostine's  feeling  for  him  was  slighter  than  that 
wise  young  person  had  supposed? 

When  Mme.  Du  Fossat  and  her  daughter  went 
"  across  the  Lake,"  Gerald  asked  M.  Du  Fossat's  per 
mission  to  follow.  He  would  spend  his  own  vacation 
near  them  and  pursue  his  courtship. 

Agostine's  father,  grateful  and  admiring  and  af 
fectionately  inclined  toward  Gerald,  whose  sincerity 
he  had  such  good  reason  to  trust,  gave  willing  con 
sent. 

But  when  Gerald  arrived  upon  the  scene,  he  found 
himself  thwarted  in  a  new  direction. 

"  Nathalie  the  Wise,"  he  wrote,  "  please  accept 
Agostine's  invitation, —  which  you  must  have  re 
ceived  by  this  time, —  to  spend  a  week-end  here.  In 
the  words  of  the  melodrama,  '  Hellup !  Help ! ' 

"  Mme.  Du  Fossat, —  you  know  how  formal  she  is 
—  will  not  give  me  a  word  with  Agostine  alone.  She 
chaperones  her  constantly  with  a  persistence  worthy 
of  a  more  patriotic  cause. 

"  Think  —  oh !  think,  fair  confidante, —  of  a  moon 
light  sail,  with  one's  lady  looking  most  alluring  in  the 
silvery  beams,  and  Mama  discoursing  in  a  steady 
grand-ladyish  monotone  about  the  court  of  the  Em 
press  Josephine  and  how  the  Du  Fossats  and  Labois- 
sieres  had  scorned  it!  And  only  one  week  more  of 
my  vacation! 

"  Oh,  Nathalie,  do  something, —  for  I  can't  think 
she  cares  as  much  as  you  think  she  does. 


182  Melindy 

"  And,  say !  Bring  Melindy, —  I'm  superstitious 
about  that  little  mascotte." 

Therefore  Nathalie,  stringing  beads  on  the  rug, 
promised  the  children  their  outing. 

"  Hope  it  won't  rain,"  said  Melindy.  "  Jess  look 
at  dat  sparrer!  He  sho'ly  will  explode  ef  he  eats 
any  mo'  ob  dem  plums.  Shoo !  Go  on,  you  greedy 
bird,  doan'  you  see  it's  a-rainin'?  Dey's  on'y  one 
thing  I's  afeard  ob,  an'  dat's  not  two,  Miss  Nat'lie. 
An'  dat's  dat  dat  rain'll  come  and  drizzle  and  leak  an' 
spoil  de  party.  'Cause  I  ain'  as  calm  'bout  de  rain 
as  dat-ar  sparrer  is." 

Nathalie  shared  her  fear.  It  had  been  a  rainy 
week  and  she  foresaw  dripping  woods  and  soggy 
shore.  But  she  felt  that,  whatever  the  weather,  she 
must  obey  the  summons,  for  she  smilingly  recalled 
another  letter  received  in  the  same  mail  with  Ger 
ald's. 

"  My  dear  Nathalie,"  it  ran,  "  please,  if  it  be  pos 
sible,  accept  Agostine's  invitation  and  mine  to  join 
us  here  for  the  week-end,  with  Eulalia  to  companion 
you  on  the  trip,  and  Melindy,  if  you  wish  her,  to  run 
errands  and  help  amuse  Eulalia. 

"  For,  my  dear  child,  I  am  not  wholly  unselfish  in 
begging  you  to  do  this.  You  know  that  I  am  sadly 
in  need  of  quiet  and  rest  and  came  to  this  place  for 
that  reason.  But  young  Gerald  Haviland, —  whom 
I  like  exceedingly, —  is  here  and  with  us  constantly. 

"  Of  course,  it  keeps  me  in  unending  chaperonage. 


A  Messenger  of  the  Gods  183 

"  Imagine,  ma  chere,  a  superb,  balmy  night,  gently 
lapping  waves,  a  restful  sail, —  Heaven,  to  tired 
nerves !  —  marred  by  the  necessity  of  steady  conver 
sation  about  dear  knows  what.  A  new  courthouse, 
I  believe  he  talked  about ! 

"  I  might  retire  for  awhile  if  there  were  two  of  you 
girls  instead  of  one. 

"  Please  come,  child,  and  act  as  substitute  for  a 
little  time. 

"  Your  tired  friend, 
"  MYBTHE  DE  LABOISSIERE  Du  FOSSAT." 

The  day  of  the  voyage  was  not  rainy,  but  radiant 
beyond  their  hopes.  A  be  jeweled  day!  The  lake 
lay  like  a  sapphire  strewn  with  diamonds,  under  a 
pearl  and  turquoise  sky,  and  the  setting  of  bright 
sunshine  was  appropriately  golden. 

The  crowded,  slow  little  steamer  drifted  its  lei 
surely  way  across  the  blue  surface,  turned  into  the 
beautiful,  forest-bordered,  winding,  jasmine-fragrant 
river  and  stopped  at  a  landing  near  its  mouth,  where 
lake-side  beach  poked  its  sandy  nose  into  the  pine 
woods. 

The  eager  children  rushed  to  the  side  of  the  boat. 
Nathalie,  looking  as  sweet  and  cool  in  her  suit  of 
dull  blue  linen  as  the  blue  water-hyacinths  at  her 
waist,  waved  cheerily  to  Agostine. 

All  the  guests  of  the  little  hotel  hidden  among  the 
trees  came  down  to  the  wharf  to  see  the  boat  come  in, 
• —  the  event  of  the  day. 


184  Melindy 

"  Oh !  Deary  me !  "  said  Eulalia.  "  There's  Rosy 
Flemming,  Melindy ! " 

"Oh!  Lawsy  me!"  said  Melindy.  "  Ef  dar 
ain't  Edwin  Halley  Osbo'n  LaRouche !  " 

Nathalie  said  nothing  but,  with  equal  dismay,  she 
saw,  back  of  Mme.  Du  Fossat,  the  unctuous,  smiling 
features  of  Captain  Jemmy  Claiborne,  an  unwelcome 
and  not-to-be-discouraged  admirer  of  her  own. 

Agostine  rushed  forward  to  kiss  her;  Mme.  Du 
Fossat  bent  over  her  little  favorite,  Eulalia,  and, 
"Ah!  Adjuster  of  destinies!  Glad  to  see  you!" 
said  Gerald  to  Melindy. 

"  Thanky,  Marse  Gerry.  I  doan'  jess  rightly 
know  what  dat  name  means  dat  you  done  called  me. 
Sounds  sort  o'  lak  a  railroad  train  a-comin'.  But 
I'se  glad  teh  see  you  too,  sah." 

"  Why,  Agostine,  you're  getting  positively  round," 
admired  Nathalie,  happy  in  the  improved  color  and 
brightness  of  her  friend's  appearance. 

"  There's  to  be  a  dance  to-night.  Do  let  me  stake 
a  claim  to  the  first  waltz  ?  "  requested  Captain  Jemmy, 
taking  Nathalie's  valise  from  Gerald. 

Nathalie  looked  up  inquiringly  at  Mme.  Du  Fossat 
with  whom  she  was  walking. 

"  Yes,"  said  that  lady,  "  there's  an  informal  dance 
every  Friday  night.  I  shall  have  to  appear,  of 
course,"  she  added  sotto  voce,  "  but  I  live  in  the  hope 
of  rest  to-morrow,  if  you  will  relieve  me  then,  my 
dear." 

"  Nathalie,"  said  Gerald,  as  soon  as  he  caught  her 


A  Messenger  of  the  Gods  185 

private  attention,  "  I've  got  to  go  home  to-morrow 
night.  We've  —  our  firm's  been  awarded  a  new 
library  in  Birmingham  and  I  have  to  appear  before 
the  committee  on  Monday.  I  can't  have  Agostine 
alone  at  the  dance,  of  course.  But  what  can  we  do 
to-morrow?  Mme.  Du  Fossat  will  probably  be  will 
ing  to  retire  in  your  favor, —  but  where  can  we 
retire  ? 

"This  hotel  looks  small, —  but,  I  tell  you,  both 
forest  and  shore  are  literally  swarming  with  perfect 
thousands  of  people. 

"  Don't  laugh,  Nathalie.  You'd  see  their  multi 
tude  if  you  were  trying  to  escape  them. 

"  You  see,  I'm  specially  anxious  to  —  speak  to 
Agostine  now,  because  that  charming  naval  cousin, 
whose  lifelong  devotion  is  so  very  picturesque,  arrives 
the  very  day  I  leave.  He'll  bring  a  cargo  of  new 
languishing  songs  and  ropes  of  brass  buttons.  Oh, 
well  I" 

"  Why  not  go  sailing,  Gerry  ?  Get  a  boat  and  we 
three  can  be  off  for  the  day.  Agostine  can  bring 
luncheon  and  I'll  bring  a  book, —  an  absorbing  book." 

"  Nathalie,  you  are  dear  to  my  soul !  The  coun 
try  is  saved ! " 

"  Only,  Gerald, —  a  boon !  Pray  do  not  mention 
our  project  to  any  one;  and  I'll  ask  Agostine  and 
Mme.  Du  Fossat  not  to  do  so." 

"  Am  I  likely  to  issue  any  invitations  to  this  sail 
ing  party,  do  you  think?  " 
.    "  No.     But  —  I    don't    want    to    say    anything 


186  Melindy 

*  catty,' —  but  if  Captain  Jemmy  knows  we  are  going 
it  won't  be  necessary  to  invite  him.  He'll  come." 

"  Righto !  Poor  Jemmy !  Eheu !  We  can  but 
hope." 

"  Well,  Melindy  says,  '  Hope's  a  good  saddle,  but 
you  got  teh  have  a  horse.'  We  must  lay  our  plans 
carefully  and  get  an  early  start." 

Even  the  early  start, —  and  the  three  were  ready, 
eager  and  merry  while  the  daylight  over  the  lake  still 
had  an  infantile  softness  and  pinkness  —  even  the 
early  start  was  of  no  avail.  For,  beside  their  little 
catboat  stood  Captain  Jemmy  Claiborne,  resplendent 
in  striped  flannels. 

"  Well,  this  is  jolly !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Let  me  in 
on  it,  Haviland !  " 

Melindy  and  Eulalia,  who  stood  at  a  window  of  the 
hotel,  watching  the  little  boat  put  off  in  the  morning 
mist,  little  knew  the  strangely  mixed  emotions  that  it 
carried. 

"  Come  'long,  Missy  'Lalia.  We  ain't  a-gwine-a 
be  hyah  more'n  jess  till  Monday,  an'  dey's  heaps  ob 
things  teh  do  hyah  dat  cayn't  be  did  at  we-all's  house. 
Le's  git  our  breakfas',  an'  go  out  an'  make  p'etend 
we  is  oysters  on  de  shore.  All  you  has  teh  do  is  jess 
open  an'  shet  yo'  mouf  and  wait  fo'  somebody  teh 
come  eat  you.  First  off,  I'll  eat  you,  an'  den  you  kin 
eat  me.  Come  'long  bef o'  dat  Edwin  gits  teh  me  or 
dat  Rosy  gits  teh  you !  Dey's  both  much  too  mouthy 
f o'  oysters." 

"  Too  mouthy?     What  d'ye  mean,  mouthy?  " 


'A  Messenger  of  the  Gods          187 

8<  I  mean  dey  talks  too  much.  An'  dey  quarrels 
too  much.  Come  'long,  Missy,  honey ! 

"  Oh !  Bless  ma  heaht !  Missy  Euly,  ef  dar  ain't 
dat  boy  now,  walkin'  up  an'  down  outside  a-waitin' 
fo'  us  jess  lak  a  li'l  dog.  Well,  folkses  dat  you 
cayn't  be  rid  ob,  you  might  jess  es  well  be  polite 
teh." 

Edwin  waited  patiently  for  them  under  the  big 
palmetto  on  the  hotel  lawn. 

"  You  suttinly  is  a  slow-poke,  you,  Melindy,"  said 
he.  "  I  done  got  so  thin  standin'  hyah  waitin'  f  o' 
you,  I  mos'  wore  away  teh  nothin!  I  ain'  seen  you 
teh  talk  teh  in  a  month  ob  Saturdays." 

"Well,  is  you  got  anythin'  pertickler  teh  say  teh 
me?  "  asked  Melindy  sweetly. 

"  On'y  to  ax,  *  Will  you  be  ma  gal  ?  '  teased  Edwin. 
"  I'se  a  great  fighter,  I  is.  I  done  fit  a  lot  sence  I 
seen  you.  I  done  whipped  ev'ybody.  I  whipped 
two  boys  from  Baton  Rouge,  I  whipped  de  plumber's 
boy,  I  whipped  two  boys  from  nex'  door  teh  ma 
aunt's  house.  I  done  gib  one  ob  'em  a  good  whip 
ping  an'  flung  him  up  higher  dan  a  kite,"  he  boasted. 

"  'Pears  teh  me  you  is  mighty  foolish  teh  be  givin' 
away  what  you  need  so  much  yo'se'f ,"  said  Melindy 
with  a  smile. 

"  Melindy !  "  cried  Eulalia  plaintively,  "  here  comes 
Rosy  out  of  the  hotel." 

"Well,  Missy  Euly,  yo'  Papa  says,  'All  things 
comes  teh  dem  dat  waits ' ;  so  let's  us  be  movin'  on. 
Good-by,  Edwin." 


188  MelinSy 

"  O !  ho !  I  ain't  gone  yet,"  said  Edwin,  follow 
ing  close.  "  Good  mohnin',  li'l  Missy  Rosy,"  he 
called. 

"  Good  morning,  Eulalia.  Morning !  " —  this  sec 
ond  greeting  was  more  cavalierly  given  to  the  others. 
For  Rosa  Flemming's  Northern  mother  did  not  under 
stand  the  secret  of  that  familiar,  affectionate  inter 
course  with  the  negro  in  the  household  that  no  negro 
who  does  understand  it  ever  presumes  upon. 

"  Good  morning  to  you,  Missy  Rosy,"  said  Me- 
lindy  courteously,  thinking  in  her  heart,  however, 
"  Huh !  You  ain'  quality.  Quality  folks  ain'  'f  raid 
teh  be  frien'ly.  Ma  white  folks  is  quality.  An'  de 
teacher  says  ma  black  folks  might  a'  been  kings  in 
Africa  befo'  yours  was  even  bleached." 

"  Let's  play  giving  a  reception,"  said  Rosa.  "  I'll 
be  hostess  and  you  must  all  come  in." 

The  game  was  not  in  the  least  attractive  to  the 
others,  for  Rosa  understood  social  forms  and  matters 
of  precedence,  to  which  they  had  not  yet  been  sub 
ject,  and  she  was  a  very  martinet,  proud  of  using  her 
superior  knowledge. 

Besides,  Melindy  and  Eulalia  yearned  to  suit  their 
games  to  these  delightful  new  surroundings.  But 
Eulalia  was  too  polite  to  urge  her  own  ideas  upon 
Rosa,  and  Melindy  had  been  trained  by  Sis  Suky  to 
accept  her  little  mistress's  decision. 

But  there  were  ways  of  swinging  the  tide  of  things 
not  dreamt  of  in  Rosa's  philosophy.  Melindy  waited. 
At  any  rate,  the  imaginary  reception  had  one  com- 


]S!  Messenger  of  the  Gods          189 

pensation.  Edwin  wearied  of  it  and  departed  to  a 
little  distance. 

"  Dat  wuz  a  awful  nice  reception,  Missy  Rosy," 
Melindy  said,  after  a  little.  "  You  suttinly  does 
know  a  heap  'bout  parties.  Now,  Missy  Euly, 
wouldn't  it  be  nice  ef  Missy  Rosy  would  make  b'lieve 
give  a  dinner  party,  an*  you  an'  me,  we  could  be  de 
oysters  ?  " 

"  Oh !  yes,"  agreed  Eulalia,  "  and  first  we  could  be 
on  the  beach.  Then  we'd  be  fishermen  and  catch  each 
other.  And  Rosy  could  be  getting  her  table  ready 
under  that  pine  tree." 

"  But  who'd  be  the  guests?  "  objected  Rosa. 

"  Oh !  Jess  make-b'lieve  f  olkses.  Dey  is  de  bes' 
at  a  make-b'heve  dinner  party,  'cause  dey  has  got 
make-b'lieve  appetites.  An'  hyah's  dat  Edwin  again  ! 
He  kin  be  somebody  dat's  so  sorry,  but  dey  really 
couldn't  come." 

Melindy  ancT  Eulalia  sat  down,  at  once,  on  the 
shore,  opening  and  shutting  their  mouths  whenever 
laughter  permitted.  This  performance  was  so  evi 
dently  enjoyable  that  soon  Rosa  forgot  her  formal 
parties  and  her  quarrelsomeness  and  Edwin  forgot  to 
tease  and  all  four  children  became  fish  and  gulls  and 
kingfishers  and  scarlet  tanagers  and  all  the  creatures 
native  to  the  place, —  which  had  been  the  clever  Me- 
lindy's  plan  from  the  beginning. 

Gerald's  sailing  party  was  less  successful.  Only 
Captain  Jemmy  enjoyed  it,  and  he  added  to  the 
tragedy  of  the  occasion  for  the  others  bjr  saying  often 


190  Melindy 

and  jovially,  "Well,  well,  well!  Isn't  this  delight 
ful?  And  to  think  that  you  were  going  to  leave  me 
out  of  this!  But  I  watch  my  interests  better  than 
that,  Miss  Nathalie." 

Then  he  sang  to  them,  lusty,  loud,  roystering  bal 
lads  that  permitted  no  conversation, —  at  least  in  any 
register  lower  than  a  scream. 

At  the  end  of  a  stanza  there  sounded  a  great 
splash. 

"Oh!"  cried  Agostine. 

"  What  was  it?  "  asked  Nathalie. 

"  Drop  something?  "  inquired  Captain  Jemmy  Clai- 
borne  facetiously. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Gerry,  "  the  lunch  fell  over 
board." 

"Gerry!  "said  Nathalie. 

He  looked  straight  into  her  truth-compelling  eyes. 
His  own  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Nathalie !  "  he  mimicked.  "  Just  as  I  tell  you. 
I  dropped  the  luncheon  overboard.  We'll  have  to 
put  in,  in  time  for  twelve  o'clock." 

Even  Captain  Jemmy  was  too  hungry  to  protest. 

At  the  luncheon  table  Nathalie  asked  Mme.  Du 
Fossat's  consent  to  their  going  for  a  stroll  among  the 
pines,  and  felt  guilty  at  the  grateful  glance  with 
which  that  weary  guardian  gave  it. 

66  Never  mind  our  mail,"  said  Nathalie  gayly. 
"  Everybody  goes  to  the  office  for  mail  after  lunch 
eon.  We'll  just  get  into  the  forest  while  it  is  still 
and  uninhabited  =—  ahead  of  the  crowd,  in  that  lovely 


[A!  Messenger  of  the  Gods          191 

noon-day  hush.  Let's  slip  out  through  this  little  rear 
door  and  dash  for  the  woods." 

They  ran  playfully  into  the  forest  fastnesses. 

There  Nathalie  sat  with  her  book  under  a  tree. 

"  You  two  strip  me  some  young  palmetto  to  make 
baskets  for  the  children,"  she  requested,  in  roguish 
triumph. 

"  At  last !  "  whispered  Gerald  to  Agostine. 

"  Ah !  Here  you  are ! "  cried  Captain  Jemmy 
Claiborne,  panting  and  perspiring  with  the  chase. 
"  Stripping  palmetto?  I'll  show  you  how  we  do  that 
in  Florida.  What's  the  matter,  Haviland?  What 
did  you  say?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  it.  I  swear  I  didn't.  You  must 
have  read  my  thoughts." 

"  If  you  really  want  to  be  a  good  angel,  Captain 
Claiborne,"  said  Nathalie,  "  won't  you  go  to  the  office 
and  ask  for  our  mail?  It's  mail-time  now.  And  we 
are  so  lazy  and  comfortable  here." 

"  I'll  do  anything  for  you,  of  course.  But,  I  say, 
Haviland,  I've  been  tearing  up  from  the  house  after 
you  and  I'm  melted.  You  go  be  the  good  angel  and 
get  the  letters  and  I'll  stay  here  with  the  ladies  and 
be  a  selfish  brute  and  cool  off." 

So  Gerald  went  for  the  mail.  His  sentiments  were 
not  angelic. 

Agostine,  who  had  no  sense  of  humor,  stripped 
palmetto  in  pained  silence. 

Nathalie  laughed.  She  could  not  help  it.  Agos 
tine  looked  at  her  with  astonished  reproach. 


192  Melindy 

When  Gerald  returned  he  brought  the  mail,  and 
Melindy. 

"  Now !  "  said  he,  "  here  she  is !  " 

"  What  did  you  want  me  fo',  Miss  Nat'lie?  "  asked 
the  child. 

"  Why,  Gerald !  "  exclaimed  Nathalie,  accusingly, 
and  of  Melindy  she  demanded,  "  Where  did  you  leave 
Eulalia?  " 

"  She's  playin'  wif  Missy  Rosy,  jess  es  frien'ly  an' 
happy  as  two  li'l  kittens.  'Twas  me  made  dem  hab 
so  much  fun." 

"  Of  course,"  interjected  Gerald. 

"Did  you  want  me  fo'  somethin',  Miss  Nat'lie?" 

Nathalie  looked  at  Gerald  provokingly.  "  No, 
dear,"  she  replied  to  Melindy. 

"  Why,  Marse  Gerry  said  — " 

"  Yes,  she  does,  Melindy,"  Gerald  assured  her. 
"  Indeed  she  does  want  you.  Maybe  she  doesn't 
know  she  wants  you.  But  she  wants  you  very  much." 

"  Haviland  is  so  absurd  sometimes,"  whispered 
Captain  Jemmy  to  Nathalie.  "  I  wish  he  would  stay 
away  a  little.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Here  comes  Missy  Euly  an'  Missy  Rosy  Flem- 
ming  now  an'  dat-ar  no-'count  Edwin  boy  teh  tease 
us.  He  was  rale  nice  fo'  a  li'l  while,  but  den  he 
began  teh  be  a  alligator  an'  chase  us  all  over  de  place. 

"  But  I'se  a-gwine  teh  git  rid  ob  him." 

"  Let  me  see  you  do  it,"  said  Gerald. 

"  Did  you  want  me  fo'  somethin',  Miss  Nat'lie, 
honey?  "  persisted  Melindy. 


A  Messenger  of  the  Gods          193 

"  No,  dear.  But  you  youngsters  may  as  well  play 
here  in  the  woods  for  awhile.  It's  very  hot  and 
sunny  in  the  open  now." 

"  It  sho'ly  is  hot.  Too  hot  fo'  Missy  Euly  an' 
Missy  Rosy  an'  me.  But  Edwin!  "  raising  her  voice 
as  he  approached.  "  Why,  he's  so  strong  he  chased 
us  all  over  de  place  and  warn't  hot  or  tired  at  all. 
I  bet  he  wouldn't  hab  teh  set  hyah  in  de  woods  wif 
li'l  gals,  when  de  boys  is  a-runnin'  races  on  de  beach. 
Oh !  Good-by,  Edwin.  See  you  atter  while. —  H'm ! 
I  had  teh  git  rid  ob  him,  'cause  he  pretty  nigh  had 
Missy  Euly  ready  teh  cry." 

"Oh!  ho!"  said  Gerald,  "I  see!"  And  after  a 
few  moments  of  forced  and  forceless  conversation, 
"  Claiborne,  I'll  wager  you've  got  your  banjo  in  your 
room.  These  woods  would  be  just  the  place  for  that 
machine,  if  you  can  make  it  talk  the  way  you  used 
to.  Run  get  it  like  a  good  fellow !  " 

Captain  Jemmy  smiled  with  gratified  vanity.  The 
desire  for  his  music  was  not  often  expressed.  He 
rose  with  alacrity. 

As  he  vanished  through  the  trees,  Gerald  said, 
"  Didn't  I  say  you  needed  Melindy  ?  I've  imitated 
her  highly  successful  method." 

He  crossed  the  patch  of  green  toward  Agostine. 
Nathalie  picked  up  her  book. 

"  You  children  —  big  and  little, —  do  look  most 
cool  and  comfortable,"  called  Mme.  Du  Fossat,  com 
ing  through  the  trees  with  her  bag  of  embroidery. 
"  I  am  going  to  the  summerhouse  to  sew.  But  I  will 


194  Melindy 

stay  with  you  just  for  a  little  while,  that  you  may 
know  that  I  have  not  altogether  deserted." 

And  she  did,  until  the  figure  of  Captain  Jemmy 
returning  with  his  banjo,  scared  her  away, —  as  well 
it  might. 

When  the  Captain  had  twanged  beatifically  and  un 
ceasingly  for  an  hour,  "  Pray  pardon  my  going," 
said  Agostine,  "  but  truly  I  have  a  headache  to-day. 
It  is  the  heat.  I  must  lie  down  a  little.  Also  it  is 
nearly  time  to  dress  for  dinner." 

Nathalie  and  the  children  accompanied  her,  leaving 
Gerald  sitting  gloomily  in  the  forest  hearing  out  the 
music  he  had  asked  for. 

"  Life  is  so  merry,"  sang  the  Captain,  "  Life  is  so 

gay!" 

Melindy  looked  back  at  them. 

"  Miss  Nat'lie,"  said  she,  «  I  knowed  a  li'l  boy  an' 
he  went  visitin'  an'  his  Mammy  done  tole  him  dat  ef 
anybody  offered  him  anythin'  teh  eat  or  teh  drink 
he  should  take  it  an'  say  *  Yas,  ma'am,  ef  you  please, 
ma'am,'  very  pretty.  An'  de  chilluns  dat  he  war 
a-visitin'  dey  was  takin'  some  bad-tastin'  medicine  — 
'twas  suphur  an'  m'lasses  —  an'  deir  Ma  axed  him 
would  he  take  some,  an'  he  say,  *  Yas,  ma'am ;  ef 
you  please,  ma'am ! '  An'  when  he  took  it  he  look 
jess  lak  Marse  Gerry  a-lissenin'  teh  dat  music. 
What  make  dat  music  so  sort  ob  slam-bangy,  Miss 
Nat'lie?" 

"Poor  old  Gerald!"  thought  Nathalie.  "The 
Fates  fight  against  him.  And  he  has  to  go  home 


''A  Messenger  of  the  Gods          195 

right  after  dinner.  I  suppose  that  Art  Committee 
in  Birmingham  simply  couldn't  wait ! " 

Poor  Gerald,  indeed!  Agostine  felt  quite  certain 
that  if  he  could  leave  without  the  least  word  of  par 
ticular  allegiance  to  her,  after  nearly  two  weeks  in 
this  most  romantic  place,  Agostine  was  quite  sure  that 
superficial  gallantry  was  merely  characteristic  of 
Gerald  and  that  she  wronged  herself  to  consider  him 
so  tenderly.  Her  amour  propre  was  wounded.  She 
would  not  even  speak  of  him  to  Nathalie. 

Therefore, —  for  Agostine  was  very  young, —  she 
welcomed  the  opportunity  to  show  intense  elation 
when  Mme.  Du  Fossat  announced  at  dinner  that  she 
had  had  a  letter  from  her  nephew,  Lieutenant  de 
Bonneville,  reaffirming  his  promise  to  visit  them  on 
the  morrow. 

Gerald  almost  groaned  aloud.  And  Nathalie  was 
all  the  more  alert  to  say  to  him,  softly,  the  moment 
the  evening  meal  was  over,  "  Go  now,  quickly.  You 
have  fifteen  minutes  at  least  before  you  need  start 
for  the  boat.  There  is  no  one  on  the  small  porch 
but  Melindy.  Hurry.  Take  Agostine  there." 

"  Agostine ! "  she  called,  to  help  him,  "  come  here, 
on  the  gallery  a  moment." 

Then,  when  both  had  obeyed,  she  put  the  length 
of  the  porch  between  herself  and  them. 

Gerald  spoke  quickly,  ignoring  Melindy. 

"  Agostine,"  he  said,  "  there  hasn't  been  oppor 
tunity —  there  isn't  time  to  say  this  thing  the  way 
I  ought  —  but  I  couldn't  say  what  I  wish  to  say  any- 


196  Melindy 

way  —  there  are  no  words." —  It  was  a  sign  of  deep 
feeling  when  loquacious  Gerald  had  to  make  that  con 
fession. — "  Only  I  could  not  go  away  without  telling 
you,  without  asking  you  — " 

"  Couldn't  let  you  go  without  saying  *  Good-by,' 
Haviland.  I'll  go  down  to  the  boat  with  you. 
We're  all  going.  We're  so  sorry  you  must  be  off !  " 
said  genial  Captain  Jemmy,  stepping  through  the 
French  window. 

His  voice  went  booming  on  as  the  sweet  evening 
deepened,  until,  "  Come,  children ! "  called  Agostine's 
mother.  "  I'm  grieved  that  it  has  become  necessary 
for  you  to  go  back  to  the  city  to-night,  Mr.  Havi 
land.  But  if  you  must  take  this  boat,  we  shall  need 
to  hurry." 

A  merry  party  from  the  hotel  escorted  the  far  from 
merry  Gerald  to  the  wharf  and  sang  out  farewells 
and  hopes  for  his  return,  as  he  mounted  the  gang 
plank  of  the  little  steamer. 

Melindy  darted  forward  and  mounted  after  him. 

"  Oh !  Marse  Gerry,"  said  she,  breathlessly,  "  ain't 
you  forgot  somethin'?  I  done  heard  you  say  you 
couldn't  go  without  axin'  Miss  'Gostine  somethin'  an' 
you  am'  nebber  axed  her  nothin'.  Cayn't  I  ax  her 
f o'  you  ?  Am'  I  kine  and  thoughtful,  Marse  Gerry  ?  " 

"All  ashore  for  the  shore!  All  aboard  for  the 
boat !  "  cried  a  sailor. 

"  Melindy,"  said  Gerald  in  desperation,  "  yes.  Go 
to  her  immediately.  Let  no  one  else  hear  you.  Ask 


A  Messenger  of  the  Gods          197 

her  if  she'll  marry  me.  Tell  her  if  she  will  to  wave 
her  scarf." 

Melindy  went  gleefully,  expanding  with  impor 
tance. 

As  the  gang-plank  was  lifted,  Gerald  watched,  with 
frightened  heart,  Melindy  standing  on  tiptoe  to  reach 
Agostine's  ear. 

As  the  ropes  were  untied  to  release  the  boat  from 
shore,  he  saw  Agostine  clasp  her  hands  upon  her 
breast  with  her  characteristic  intense  little  gesture. 

Was  she  indignant,  outraged? 

As  the  little  steamer  creaked  away  from  the  shore, 
he  saw  Agostine  wave  her  scarf! 

Before  the  breach  of  water  grew  too  wide,  Gerald 
Haviland,  leaving  his  satchel  behind  him  on  the  boat, 
leapt  to  the  land. 

"  I've  decided  to  stay,"  he  announced  to  the 
astounded  gathering.  "What's  a  library?  Come 
here,  Melindy ! " 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IN  QUIETNESS 

REMEMBERING  General  Haviland's  love  for  delicate 
flowers,  Nathalie  brought  a  basketful  of  young 
swamp- jasmine  vines  from  the  woods  along  the 
Tchefuncta.  Early  in  the  morning  of  the  day  after 
their  return  from  the  eventful  visit  to  Agostine,  she 
dispatched  Melindy  and  Eulalia  to  bear  the  gift  to 
him. 

"  Tell  General  Haviland  to  be  sure  to  plant  them 
at  the  very  edge  of  his  water-lily  pond,  and  to  get 
them  in  the  ground  right  away  —  before  the  sun  is 
hot,"  she  directed. 

"Yas'm,  Miss  Nath'lie;  us'll  tell  him,"  Melindy 
assured  her.  "  Dey'll  sho'ly  grow  up  fine  an'  pretty 
den,  won't  dey,  Miss  Nat'lie  ?  " 

«  Well,—  I  hope  so,  dear ! " 

"  H'm.  When  dey  grows  so  big  and  spready-out 
in  de  swamp  woods  whar  nobody  tends  teh  dem,  it 
do  seem  lak  dey  ought  teh  jess  abound  in  flowers  fo' 
Gin'al  Hav'land.  He'll  nurse  'em  along  so  good. 
Ef  dey  has  any  thank-you  in  dem,  dey'll  grow  up  for 
him." 

Melindy  looked  sternly  at  the  vines  in  the  basket. 

"  But,  howsomever,"  she  relented,  dimpling,  "  when 
198 


In  Quietness  199 

folkses  forgits  teh  be  thankful  an'  act  pretty,  what 
kin  you  expec'  ob  flowers? 

"Dat  fat  ole  Marse  Du  Ponta  from  'round  de 
corner  was  out  walkin'  wif  young  Miss  Sally  Gray 
yistiddy  ebenin', —  jess  after  we  come  home.  An'  she 
done  drop  her  pocket-handkerchy,  an'  he  try  teh  pick 
it  up  fo'  her  an'  he's  so  fat  he  couldn'.  An'  he 
pushed  me  'way  when  I  went  teh  git  it.  So  I  say  to 
him, —  real  pretty  an'  perlite  — '  Please,  sah,  Marse 
Du  Ponta,  ef  you  jess  blow  out  yo'  bref  an'  hold 
yo'se'f  widout  breavin',  fo'  jess  a  minute  an'  bend 
over  real  quick,  I  think  p'raps  you  kin  do  it  more 
better.'  An'  he  ain't  nebber  said  nothin'  lak  *  Thank 
you,  Melindy ! ' 

"  Oh,  well !  Ev'ybody  must  do  de  way  dey  is  dis- 
positioned  teh  do.  Some  runs  teh  grins  an'  some 
runs  teh  grumbles. 

"  Come  'long,  Missy  Euly,  honey,  Melindy'll  git 
you  yo'  pink  an'  white  sunbonnet  teh  pertec  yo' 
pritty  cheekses.  I  doesn't  tan  nor  freckle,  myse'f, 
so  I  doesn't  need  no  hat ! " 

Young  as  was  the  morning,  the  children  found 
General  Haviland  already  busy  in  his  gentle-colored 
garden. 

"  Good  morning,  little  Eulalia !  And  good  morn 
ing,  Imp,  to  you!  Coming  to  see  me?  What  are 
you  looking  at  so  hard,  Melindy  ?  " 

"  'Scuse  me,  sah ! "  coming  at  once  to  attention, 
"  but  I  jess  seen  de  mis-fittest  thing  I  ebber  did  see 
in  all  ma  days.  It  do  beat  all !  Looky  dere,  now !  " 


zuu  ivieimay 

"  Why,  I  see  nothing  but  a  wagon-load  of  coal 
going  by." 

"  An'  a  pure  white  horse  a-draggin'  de  load !  Teh 
be  a  white  horse  an'  work  in  a  coal  yard!  What  is 
de  use  ob  dat! 

"  Hyah's  some  jasmine  vines,  Gin'al  Hav'land, — " 

"  From  Cousin  Nathalie, —  from  across  the  Lake. 
She  got  them  in  the  swampy  woods  — " 

"  An'  please  teh  put  dem  right  nigh  de  edge  of 
de  water-lily  pond  — " 

"  And  get  them  in  the  ground  before  the  sun  is 
hot.  They  bear  lovely  yellow  flowers  that  smell  all 
goody  — " 

"  An'  ev'ybody  at  our  house  sends  you-all  deir 
lub.  My  sakes,  Missy  Euly !  You  an'  me  is  talkin' 
in  an'  out  lak  dancin'  'round  de  Maypole." 

General  Haviland's  expressions  of  pleasure  at  the 
gift  and  his  promises  to  obey  all  directions  were 
shortened  by  the  sudden  disappearance  of  half  of  his 
audience. 

Eulalia  saw  Dr.  Robert  Haviland  approaching 
from  the  house  and  darted  forward  to  meet  him. 

Quietness  and  confidence  were  certainly  the  young 
Doctor's  strength  in  their  magnetizing  effect  upon 
children. 

He  never  condescended  to  the  Heguilements,  trivial 
flatteries  and  vapid  questionings  with  which  most 
adults  seek  to  allure  the  young.  But  the  very  sim 
plicity  and  frankness  of  his  approach  seemed  to  draw 


In  Quietness  201 

them  at  once  into  a  relationship  of  sympathy  and 
understanding. 

"  Run  along,  then,  deserter !  "  cried  the  General  to 
Eulalia.  And  to  her  companion  he  asked,  "  Why  do 
you  young  folks  always  run  to  Master  Robert,  Me- 
lindy?" 

Melindy  thought  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  'Cause  us  jess  lubs  Marse  Rob,  I  reckon." 

"Yes.  But  you  love  me  too,  don't  you?  And 
Master  Gerald?  " 

"  Yes,  sah.  Us  sho'ly  do,  sah ! "  smiling  win- 
somely. 

"  Well,  why  do  you  all  run  to  the  Doctor  —  all  of 
you?" 

"  I  has  teh  think  'bout  dat,"  and,  after  a  pause 
for  meditation,  "  I  reckon  it's  'cause  dey's  two  sorts 
ob  lub,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "  Dey's  de  lub  dat 
you  kin  put  down  an'  take  up  an'  dey's  lub  dat  you 
lives  in.  An'  dat's  de  kine  dat  jess  nachelly  comes 
out  an'  pulls  you. 

"  Dey's  somefin'  so  sorter  steady  'bout  Marse  Rob. 
He  doan'  nebber  seem  teh  flicker.  You  jess  wants 
teh  go  teh  Marse  Rob,  'cause  he's  always  right  dar 
when  you  gits  teh  him." 

"  Good  for  you,  Imp ! "  and  General  Haviland 
looked  proudly  at  the  young  Doctor's  steady,  firm 
arms  and  steady,  firm,  white,  sensitive  hands  as  he 
held  the  squirming  and  ecstatic  Eulalia  steadily  and 
firmly  aloft. 


202  Melindy 

There  was  something  primal,  restful,  enduring  even 
in  the  straight  way  he  stood,  with  his  heels  together 
well  under  his  lithe  young  body. 

The  sentimental  General's  eyes  grew  moist.  Fol 
lowing  a  line  of  thought  that  had  frequently  dis 
turbed  him  of  late,  " '  Jess  natchelly  pulls  you  to 
him,'  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  Maybe  that's  how  it  is 
with  our  lass.  Love  that  you  live  in!  Ah,  I  know! 
—  And  I  have  been  making  Nathalie  wait  for  happi 
ness  and  considering  only  Gerald.  Women  are  so 
to-be-sought-for,  I  fear  I  never  thought  enough 
about  the  possibility  of  Nathalie's  being  'jess  natch 
elly  pulled '  to  Robert." 

"Robert!"  he  called  aloud.  "Doctor  Boy!"— 
very  tenderly  — "  can  you  stay  a  few  minutes  to  talk 
to  me,  before  you  are  off  to  the  hospital?  " 

Robert  lowered  Eulalia.  "  Certainly,  sir.  How- 
d'ye,  Melindy!  With  a  basket  of  swamp  jasmine! 
Have  you  been  up  Tchef uncta  ?  " 

"Yassir.  Miss  Nat'lie  took  Missy  Euly  an5  me 
teh  see  Miss  'Gostine.  Marse  Gerry  were  dar  too." 

The  General  lowered  his  eyes.  Robert,  perfectly 
understanding  his  perplexity,  put  his  hand  upon  his 
uncle's  shoulder. 

"  It  is  about  —  that  —  that  I  wish  to  speak  to  you, 
Rob,"  said  General  Haviland. 

And  when  the  children  had  departed  with  their 
basket  freshly  laden  with  palest  pink  crepe  myrtle, 
the  General  continued,  "  I  see  some  things  rather  dif 
ferently,  my  boy.  You  and  the  lass  have  waited  long 


In  Quietness  203 

enough  to  favor  an  old  man's  whim.  Gerry  has  al 
ways  been  my  baby  —  our  baby,  eh?  —  and  I  did 
feel  very  shy  of  hurting  him.  But  youth  is  short. 
And  if  Gerald  must  suffer  there  is  no  help.  I  have 
been  short-sighted,  perhaps,  and  selfish,  to  you  and 
to  Nathalie.  I  fear  you  may  be  the  loser  for  it, 
Robert.  Perhaps  she  thinks  it  strange  and  laggardly 
of  you  that  you  should  await  my  pleasure." 

"  Dear  Uncle,"  Robert  interrupted,  "  let  us  not  be 
too  sure  that  Nathalie  is  to  be  had  for  the  seeking. 
Yes, —  I  do  know  that  she  favors  me ;  I  am  so  proud 
to  know  it !  But  to  presume  that  it  means  —  all ! 
Why  should  she,  Uncle  General?  " 

The  General  smiled.  He  knew  that  Robert's  mod 
esty  was  very  real.  In  General  Haviland's  mind,  the 
self-assured,  self-confident  young  Doctor  stood,  in 
spite  of  these  qualities,  as  the  most  truly  modest 
young  man  of  his  acquaintance.  "  For,"  the  General 
assured  his  cronies,  "  he  has  neither  the  talkativeness 
about  his  affairs  that  is  a  form  of  egotism  —  often 
of  boastf ulness  —  nor  the  reticence  that  argues  a 
sense  of  superiority.  There  is  a  fine  line  between  — 
and  my  Robert  stands  squarely  upon  it." 

"  And  even  if  I  should  be  so  blessed,  sir,"  Robert 
continued,  "  be  sure  that  Nathalie  would  be  glad  to 
have  me  guided  by  you  as  to  the  proper  time  for 
speech.  She  loves  you, —  and  Gerald.  She  would 
not  have  it  otherwise.  She  would  understand.  We 
know  our  lass,  sir !  " 

"  True.     But  —  her  mother  delayed  her  marriage, 


204.  Melindy 

considering  my  feelings.  That  I  should  let  this 
Nathalie  do  so,  too !  "  The  General  sighed.  "  And 
as  for  your  not  being  worthy, —  Robert,  do  you  re 
member  our  old  drill,  when  you  came  home  each  week 
from  school?  " 

"At  attention,  sir!" 

"Honest?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Truthful?" 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"Unafraid?" 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"Duties  done?" 

"  I  hope  so,  sir.     Or  doing." 

"Fond  of  work?" 

"  I  eat  it  up  —  no  credit  to  me." 

"  Helpful?     Indeed,  I  need  not  ask." 

"  I  try  to  be." 

"  Loyal,  of  course  you  are,  and  kind  and  not  self- 
indulgent.  Studious?  " 

"  Have  to  be." 

"  Clean,  Robert?  " 

"  Yes,  Uncle." 

"  Boy,  our  Nathalie  can  expect,  or  even  desire,  no 
more.  Respect  yourself,  Rob,  and  win  her.  Bless 
you, —  son !  " 

"  Father !  "  whispered  the  Doctor,  and  clasped  the 
old  man's  hand. 

Robert  had  mounted  the  porch  and  the  General 


In  Quietness  205 

had  turned  to  his  gardening,  when  a  "Whoop!" 
arrested  their  attention. 

Gerald  came  bounding  up  the  walk,  shouting, 
"  Uncle !  Bud !  I've  news !  I've  news !  " 

Robert  cried  joyfully,  "The  library  has  been 
awarded  to  you!  Good!  We  knew  it  would  be! 
Bravo !  But  try  not  to  explode,  Gerry ;  it'll  mess  up 
the  walk." 

"  Library  nothing !  Behold  me,  Elder  Brother, 
and  hide  your  diminished  head.  Even  you,  Uncle! 
I  am  the  dignified,  responsible  man  of  this  family. 
I  am  engaged  to  be  married ! " 

The  General  cast  a  dismayed,  bewildered  glance  at 
Robert,  who  clasped  the  porch-railing,  went  white, 
but  smiled  bravely. 

Both  Robert  and  his  uncle,  being  themselves  of 
the  one-woman-forever  type  of  man,  thought  at  once 
of  Nathalie. 

"  Thanks  for  these  kind  words,"  said  Gerald, 
piqued  at  the  momentary  silence.  "  Are  you  two  en 
tirely  overcome  ?  " 

Robert  and  the  General  came  to  him  hastily  with 
congratulations  and  assurances  of  affection. 

"  But  you  did  rather  knock  us  breathless,"  said  his 
uncle. 

"  Why, —  you  see,  I  didn't  tell  you  that  I  was 
'  rushing  '  Agostine  — " 

"  Agostine ! " 

"  Of  course,  Agostine.     Who  else?     I  didn't  tell 


206  Melindy 

you  I  was  '  rushing '  her,  because  you've  so  often 
heard  of  my  other  '  crushes  '  and  might  have  thought 
this  a  light  and  passing  thing,  like  those.  And  I 
didn't  want  that,  for  Agostine's  sake.  For  this  is 
the  real  article,  Uncle  General,  and  I'm  the  happiest 
man  on  this  round  ball  called  terra" 

As  the  Doctor  passed  through  the  garden-gate  a 
little  later,  he  turned  back  for  a  moment  and  called 
to  Gerald,  still  happily  regaling  his  uncle  with  his 
love-story. 

"  Gerry,"  asked  the  Doctor,  "  Nathalie  was  up 
Tchef  uncta,  too, —  does  she  know  ?  " 

"  Surely ;  Nathalie  the  Wise  was  guide,  philosopher 
and  friend.  I'm  going  to  see  her  now.  Don't  care 
if  I  don't  get  any  work  done  to-day.  This  thing  has 
got  to  be  talked  about." 

When  Gerald  made  this  promise  good  and  joined 
Nathalie  on  the  porch  of  the  Big  White  House,  her 
first  question  to  him  was,  "  Does  Robert  know  ?  " 

"  Hullo!  That's  what  he  asked  me,  '  Does  Natha 
lie  know  ?  '  Why  — "  he  lifted  astonished  eyes  to 
her  tell-tale  face,  "  Nathalie !  Have  you  been  having 
the  bad  taste  all  this  time  to  prefer  Robert  Haviland 
to  me?  Well,  you  deserve  your  title,  Nathalie  the 
Wise. 

"  Forgive  me,  Nathalie.  I  know  I  shouldn't  have 
spoken.  But  I  want  all  the  world  to  be  joyously 
romantic  like  me.  And  he  is  the  best  man  alive,  old 

girl." 

"  You're  forgiven,  Gerry,"  Nathalie  laughed  easily, 


In  Quietness  207 

though  still  in  blushes.  "  I  don't  hear  all  that  is  said 
to  me.  I  take  Melindy's  advice.  She  says, '  Lots  ob 
things  tinkle  dat  ain't  got  no  clappers  teh  ring. 
Look  out  you  doan'  take  dem  fo'  bells.'  That's  an 
insult  to  you,  Sir  Light  Tongue,  and  we're  quits. 
My  love  to  Agostine ! "  she  called  gayly,  as  he  beat  a 
retreat. 

But  when  Gerald  had  gone,  Nathalie  sat  long  on 
the  steps  in  the  sunshine,  with  her  chin  in  her  hands 
and  her  glad  eyes  looking  over  the  roses  into  a  vision 
rosier  than  they, 

Robert  knew !  Now  he  would  come.  All  the  beau 
tiful  currents  of  her  life  seemed  about  to  converge 
into  a  golden  ocean. 

The  maidenly  dreams  of  the  past  seemed  far-off 
and  unreal.  Almost  in  bewilderment  Nathalie  stood 
alone  on  the  threshold  of  a  mighty  reality. 

Into  her  glad  heart  there  came  a  little  tremor  that 
was  almost  a  dread.  She  had  longed  to  have  Robert 
speak  of  love  to  her,  had  even  timidly  dared  to 
imagine  the  moment  —  but  now  she  remembered  what 
other  men  had  said  to  her  in  their  love-making,  Ger 
ald's  youthful  impetuosities,  the  platitudes  of  one 
man  who  had  cared,  the  romanticisms  of  one,  the 
downright  prose  of  another.  Nothing  would  do,  no 
words  like  theirs  would  do,  no  words  that  even  Robert 
could  say, —  she  feared  no  words  at  all  could  do 
aught  but  injure  this  radiant  holy  secret  that  had 
grown  so  silently,  so  gradually  into  her  heart  for 
years,  living  on  all  that  was  deepest  and  best  in  her, 


208  Melindy 

unknown  even  to  herself,  until  one  day,  it  burst  into 
bloom  and  she  found  her  lif e  enveloped  in  its  perfume. 

She  shrank  from  what  she  had  longed  for, —  to 
have  Robert  ask,  in  much-used  language  for  what  was 
already  so  eternally  his.  And  yet  she  longed,  too, 
for  that  from  which  she  shrank. 

It  was  coming!  Robert  would  come  that  evening, 
she  was  sure.  Nathalie  looked  back  upon  all  the  ten 
dernesses  and  beauties  of  her  singularly  glad  young 
life  and  hoped  with  all  her  heart  that  this  might  be 
its  crown,  that  nothing  would  spoil  its  poetry  and 
perfection. 

"  It  will  be  right,  however  it  comes,  of  course,"  she 
sighed,  "  but, —  oh !  —  let  it  come  just  right !  " 

In  Robert,  too,  the  same  hope  had  its  voice.  All 
day  the  thought  was  with  him,  "  How  to  tell  her !  " 

His  life  brought  him  so  close  to  the  heart  of  life, 
every  phrase,  every  expression  of  emotion  he  had 
heard.  The  vital  feelings  of  the  soul,  the  ultimate 
passions  of  humanity, —  he  had  heard  them  told.  Al 
ways  the  word  had  failed  of  the  fact!  And  to  his 
experience  the  intensest  of  words  had  grown  common 
place. 

Oh!  For  some  new  language  in  which  to  ask  this 
wondrous  thing,  to  tell  this  splendid  thing  to  Nathalie, 
—  some  new  wordless  language  of  the  mind ! 

When  Robert  came  at  evening,  Nathalie  sat  alone 
on  the  porch-rail  in  her  favorite  corner  among  the 
sweet  yellow  roses.  She  looked  like  a  bouquet  of 
white  roses,  herself,  in  the  dusk,  in  her  filmy  white 


In  Quietness  209 

dress;  a  cluster  of  roses  lay  in  her  lap  and  a  spray 
upon  her  hair. 

The  Southern  moon,  just  rising,  silvered  the  fra 
grant  air. 

Robert  stood  in  silence  looking  down  upon  her. 
She  lifted  her  frank  eyes  to  his. 

In  the  distance,  little  Melindy  was  singing;  her 
exquisite,  plaintive  treble  floated  over  the  rose-laden 
evening: 

You  nebber  kin  hyeah  de  sunlight  gleamin', 

But  it  comes,  ma  honey,  but  it  comes; 

You  nebber  kin  hyeah  de  moonbeams  beamin', 

But  dey  comes,  ma  honey,  but  dey  comes! 

You  nebber  kin  hyeah  de  roses  breavin', 

You  nebber  kin  hyeah  de  perfumes  leavin', 

You  nebber  kin  hyeah  ma  lovin'  an'  ma  grievin', — 

But  dey  comes,  ma  honey,  but  dey  comes! 

You  knows  dey's  de  sun,  'cause  he  brightens  up  de  place, 

When  he  comes,  ma  honey,  when  he  comes; 

You  knows  dey's  de  moon,  'cause  she  shows  her  pritty  face, 

When  she  comes,  ma  honey,  when  she  comes. 

An'  de  roses,  so  sweet,  nebber  needs  teh  say  a  word, 

Deir  fragrance  makes  you  know  dey's  dar,  es  plain  es  if  you 

heard! 
An'  if  you'll  let  me  live  fo'  you,  you'll  know  how  deep  I'se 

stirred, — 
Lemme  come, —  oh !  ma  honey !  —  lemme  come ! 

"  To  live  for  you,  Nathalie ! "  said  Robert. 

"  Come !  "  she  answered  him. 

And,  far  over  the  garden,  Melindy  called  in  tri 
umph,  "  Oh !  Doesn't  I  sing  dat  song  mighty  sweet 
an' pritty?" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THROWING  THE  LIFE  LINE 

"  THIS  will  be  a  busy  morning  for  you,  child,"  said 
Miss  Carrie  one  bright  Saturday  as  Melindy,  obey 
ing  the  summons  of  her  bell,  appeared  before  her  and 
Nathalie  in  the  sewing  room.  "  Lots  of  errands, — 
and  all  important ! " 

"  Da's  good,  Miss  Carrie,'*  dimpling  with  the  hap 
piness  of  service.  "  I  jess  lubs  teh  run  erran's  and 
an'  see  all  ober  de  city  an'  say,  *  Goo'  mo'nin'  I 
Mo'nin' ! '  teh  everybody  an'  dey  says,  *  Bar's  a  man 
nerly  li'l  gal,  fo'  a  facV  Whar  is  I  a-gwine,  Miss 
Carrie,  honey?  " 

"  First  to  Mr.  Mandeville  to  take  him  some  of  Miss 
Nathalie's  wonderful  cactus  flowers.  He  has  just 
come  home  and  he  is  not  well  and  needs  heartening. 
Then,  to  carry  this  letter  to  General  Haviland  for 
your  Marse  George.  And  then  to  go  to  the  convent 
school  where  the  sisters  will  give  you  some  lingerie 
they  have  embroidered  for  Miss  Nathalie's  trousseau." 

"  What  d'ye  mean, — '  trousseau  '  ?  "  asked  Eulalia, 
who  had  followed  Melindy.  "  What's  '  trousseau,' 
Mother?" 

"Please'm,  kin  I  tell  her,  Miss  Carrie?  I'll  tell 
you,  Missy  Euly.  I  knows  dat  too.  I  suttinly  does 

210 


Throwing  the  Life  Line  211 

know  a  heap,  doesn'  I,  Miss  Carrie?  When  ladies  is 
goin'  teh  git  married,  dey  alluz  acts  es  ef  dey  was 
gwine  teh  move  far  away  from  de  dressmakers  an' 
de  stores  an'  so  dey  gits  jess  es  many  clothes  es  dey 
kin,  teh  las'  'em  over.  Dat's  trousseau,  all  dem 
clothes  is.  Nobody  but  white  folks  has  dem,  'cause 
niggers  nebber  wouldn'  hab  no  chance  teh  git  married 
at  all  ef  dey  had  teh  wait  fo'  all  dat  dudin'  up. 
Sometimes  dey  has  good  luck,  howsomebber.  When 
Sis  Suky's  frien',  Sis  Danva  Callaranda  — " 

"  Sis  what,  Melindy?  "  exclaimed  Nathalie. 

"  Sis  Danva  Callaranda.  Doan'  you  'member, 
Miss  Nat'lie,  whar  Marse  Gerry  Hav'lan'  went  last 
summer?  " 

"  Oh !  Caroline,  she  means  Denver,  Colorado !  " 

"  Yas'm.  Das  whar  I  said, —  Danva  Callaranda. 
Dis-ar  gal's  daddy  worked  on  a  Pull-man  cyar, — 
'Pull-man!  Doesn'  dem  cyars  pull  de  ladies  an'  chil- 
luns,  Miss  Nat'lie?  —  an'  went  teh  Danva  Callaranda, 
an'  he  lak  dat  place  so  much  dat  he  name  dis-ar  little 
scrap  ob  skinny  daughter  dat-ar  big  fat  name. 
Well'm,  Sis  Danva  Callaranda  was  a-gwine-a  git  mar 
ried  an'  her  missus  gin  her  a  real  smack-up,  silk  dress 
ob  hern,  'cause  de  red  trimmin's  done  got  wet  an' 
spoiled  out  a  li'l  bit.  Suttinly  was  a  pritty  dress, 
Miss  Nathalie!  It  was  kind  o'  dirty  gray  an'  it  had 
red  ribbon  bows  on  it  big  es  auction-flags  an'  lots  ob 
red  spiders  an'  worms  an'  other  critters  wrigglin'  all 
over  it.  An'  Sis  Danva  Callaranda,  she  got  her  a 
long  veil  made  out-er  'skeeter  nettin'  off  de  bed,  an 


'jyieimay 

a  wreaf  ob  yaller  roses;  an'  she  look  so  elegant  dat, 
when  she  went  in  de  street  cyar  goin'  teh  de  church 
teh  git  married,  'mos'  all  de  white  folks  in  de  cyar 
done  got  out  an'  went  wif  her.  Dey  am'  nebber 
seen  a  niggah  gal  look  so  scrumptious. 

"  Shall  I  pick  de  cactuses  f  o'  Marse  Mandeville,  ma 
own  se'f  ?  Shall  I,  Miss  Nat'lie,  honey?  " 

"  Yes,  you  may  gather  them,"  reading  the  child's 
desire,  "  and  Remus  may  go  with  you,  if  you  wish, 
to  help  carry  the  packages  home." 

"Ramus,  too,  Missy?  'Cause  dey's  philopenas, 
Remus  an'  Ramus  is ;  dey  never  comes  separate.  Ef 
I  should  see  one  ob  dem  Twinses  widout  de  yuther,  I 
'clar'  teh  goodness,  I'd  think  I  was  blin'  in  one  eye, 
or  at  leas'  eyesighted.  Goo'-by,  Miss  Carrie!  Bye, 
Miss  Nat'lie!  Bye,  li'l  Missy  Euly!  Melindy'll 
bring  you  somepin'  good.  Marse  George  done  gin 
me  a  nickel." 

Remus  and  Ramus  welcomed  the  invitation  to  ac 
company  Melindy  on  her  errands,  and  followed 
humbly  in  her  train  as  she  walked  ahead,  grandly 
bearing  the  huge  red  bunch  of  plushy  cactus  blooms. 

A  voice  in  the  distance  calling  "  Fraish  figs ! 
Fraish  figs !  "  gave  her  pause. 

"  Shucks ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  Hyah  comes  dat  Ed 
win  Halley  Osbo'ne  La  Rouche  agin'.  He  mus'  be 
goin'  de  rounds  wif  he  Daddy.  Doan'  you  answer 
him,  Twinses,  no  matter  whar  he  say.  He's  a  awful 
sassy  boy !  " 

But  Edwin,  as  he  hove  in  sight  and  had  his  glance 


Throwing  the  Life  Line  213 

arrested  by  the  flaming  bunch  of  flowers,  said  noth 
ing  at  all  to  the  children.  Only,  he  went  through 
exaggerated  antics  of  astonishment  and  admiration 
and,  as  Melindy  came  by  bearing  her  bright  bouquet 
and  followed  by  the  Twinses  in  single  file,  Edwin 
sprang  to  the  head  of  the  line  beating  an  imaginary 
drum  and  whistling  a  march  shrill  and  loud. 

"  Shell  I  punch  his  haid?  "  whispered  the  Amazon 
Remus. 

"Le's  go  home,  Melindy.  We  am'  got  far  yit; 
le's  go  home  an'  wait  awhile,"  suggested  her  more 
timid  brother. 

"  Huh !  "  derided  Edwin  overhearing,  "  You  sho' 
is  brave,  boy !  You  better  quit  f  ollerin'  ma  gal ! " 
and  left  the  three  silenced  and  enraged. 

Suddenly  Melindy  dimpled. 

"  Reckon  we  does  look  lak  a  parade,"  she  admitted, 
"  wif  me  so  cocky  and  proud  up  in  front  an'  you-all 
snailin*  behine.  I  was  kind-er  satisfied  wif  our  looks 
befo'  dis-ar  Edwin  come.  I  reckon,  lots  o'  times, 
folks  dat  thinks  dey  looks  lak  somepin'  sholy  do  look 
lak  somepin',  but  not  lak  de  somepin'  dat  dey  thinks 
dey  looks  lak.  Bress  you,  no!  He's  awful  smaht, 
dat  sassy  bad  boy  is." 

"  I  jess  pines  teh  hit  dat  boy.  Doesn'  you, 
Brudder  Ramus?  "  said  Remus. 

"  No,  I  doesn'.  What  call  is  I  got  teh  want  teh 
hit  folkses?  Tell  me  dat,  Remus!"  replied  Ramus. 

"Well,"  said  Melindy,  "I  wouldn'  jess  essackly 
advise  you  teh  hit  Edwin,  Ramus,  an'  dat's  a  fac'. 


214  Melindy 

Fightin'  wif  Edwin  amt  essackly  what  you'd  call  a 
beautifier  teh  nobody." 

Two  of  Melindy's  errands  were  performed  simul 
taneously.  For  she  found  General  Haviland  a  visitor 
in  Mr.  Mandeville's  dim  library. 

Mr.  Mandeville  lay  back  in  a  wicker  reclining  chair, 
smoking  a  long,  thin  pipe.  He  looked  very  pale  and 
languid  and  his  eyes  were  drawn. 

"  I  thought  I  had  no  hope,  all  these  years,"  he  had 
been  saying.  "  It  is  an  interesting  bit  of  psychology, 
Hawy,  to  observe  the  difference  it  makes  in  you 
whether  you  think  you  have  no  hope  or  know  you 
have  none.  I  can  make  a  monograph  of  the  idea 
some  day,  perhaps.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  dead, —  and 
not  yet  tabulated  for  any  destination.  No  place  on 
earth  for  me,  every  cable  cut,  and  not  yet  re 
ceived  elsewhere, —  a  not  wholly  painful  aloofness, 
Hawy ! " 

But  Mr.  Mandeville  winced  when  he  said  it,  and 
the  General  reached  over  and  laid  his  hand  on  his 
friend's  knee. 

"  If  he  —  Carl  —  had  written  only  a  few  days 
earlier,"  said  Mr.  Mandeville,  "  only  a  few  days, — 
I  should  have  reached  him  in  time,  have  learned  what 
he  wished  of  me  and  he  would  not  have  died  in 
Ecuador,  alone,  poor  and  among  strangers.  I  am 
always  missing  destiny  by  just  a  few  days.  There 
is  an  interesting  theory  among  the  Japanese, —  not 
very  credible,  perhaps, —  acknowledging  upon  what 
small  chances,  insignificant  causes,  unconsidered 


Throwing  the  Life  Line  215 

agencies,     human     destinies     hang.     Ah,     Melindy! 
Come  in,  child.     What  beautiful  flowers !  " 

"  How-d'ye,  sah,  Marse  Mandeville,  sah !  Our  Miss 
Nat'lie  done  growed  dese  hyah  flowers  her  own  se'f. 
How-d'ye,  sah,  Gin'al  Hav'lan',  sah !  Hyah's  a  letter 
for  you,  sah.  Please  sah,  kin  I  jess  put  dese  flowers 
in  de  water  myse'f,  Marse  Mandeville,  please,  sah? 
Dey's  sech  pretty  posies  an'  dat-ar  butler  ob  yourn 
he  jess  natchully  doan'  know  what  teh  do  wif  flowers. 
He  pounds  dem  down  so  flat  an'  even,  lak  he  was 
layin'  a  pavement.  When  he  fixes  'em,  dey  doan' 
look  natchul  nohow.  Dey  looks  jess  lak  artificial 
art." 

"  Put  them  in  the  green  vase,  Melindy.  That  one 
at  the  end  of  the  stand." 

"  Dis-ar  black-an'-green  one  dat's  got  onhealthy 
scum  lak  comes  on  de  top  ob  ole  water-ponds  ?  " 

Mr.  Mandeville  smiled  and  nodded,  "  Thank  you, 
—  that  one, —  yes !  " 

"  An  insult  to  my  Pompeian  bronze,  Havvy ! "  he 
said,  as  Melindy  left  with  the  vase  to  fill  it  with  water. 

The  General  had  been  thinking  abstractedly 
throughout  the  interlude  and  spoke  as  if  there  had 
been  no  interruption. 

"  Ebers,"  said  he,  "  you  are  making  a  mistake. 
I've  never  been  one  to  give  gratuitous  advice, —  you 
know  that.  And  I'm  not  asking  you  to  take  my  ad 
vice  now.  But  there  is  a  place  in  life  for  you.  Only 
you  must  go  out  and  take  it.  Never  saw  any  office 
seeking  a  man  unless  the  man  showed  some  sort  of 


216  Melmdy 

adaptability  for  it, —  or  at  least  willingness.  There 
isn't  any  sense  in  your  burying  yourself  alive.  Never 
was  any  sense  in  it.  You  made  a  mistake  once, — 
so  be  it!  All  that  is  over.  Foolish  to  brood  over  it 
until  Doomsday.  It  never  was  a  very  serious  mis 
take, —  except  in  its  consequences.  You're  a  learned 
man  as  one  consequence,  by  the  way.  Now,  go  give 
the  world  some  use  of  that.  You've  a  loving  nature, 
old  man.  Go  love  something !  " 

Mr.  Mandeville  smiled  sadly,  shook  his  head  and 
extended  empty  hands  and  arms  with  an  eloquent 
gesture. 

The  General  continued,  "  I'm  an  old  soldier  and  I 
know,  Ebers,  that  obedience  to  life  is  a  man's  first 
duty.  Obedience  to  life  doesn't  mean  resignation,  to 
my  mind.  It  means  the  determination  to  take  the 
means  at  hand  and  go  on  living  fully." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Havvy,  what  means  for  a  complete 
life  — •" 

"  Determine  to  live  and  they  will  be  found  or  sup 
plied.  Why,  my  dear  boy,  when  the  Confederacy's 
fall  left  me  without  an  occupation  and  the  Reconstruc 
tion  period  froze  me  out  of  politics,  and  my  lady-love 
chose  a  better  man,  and  my  dear  brother  and  his 
sweet  wife  died  in  the  fever,  I  thought, —  'most  any 
one  would  have  thought, —  that  I  was  unanchored  too. 
But  what  a  life-line  I  got  in  my  boys,  my  nephews ! 
What  joyous,  interesting  living  they've  opened  up  to 
me!  Even  the  glorious  compensation  of  having  my 
boy  win  Her  girl !  — " 


Throwing  the  Life  Line  217 

"  Indeed,  I  have  thought  of  it,  Haviland,  and  been 
so  glad  for  you." 

"  Yes.  But  who'd  have  supposed  those  two  wail 
ing,  orphan  babies  were  a  blessing  to  a  bachelor  soldier 
without  a  commission!  That  is  why  I  say,  Ebers, 
that  there  is  a  life-line  for  you,  too.  Look  out  for 
it.  There's  always  a  life-line.  Only  a  man  mustn't 
drift  so  far  from  shore  that  it  cannot  reach  him !  " 

Melindy  returning  had  set  the  vase  of  flowers  down 
carefully  upon  the  mahogany  stand.  A  portrait, 
the  counterpart  of  the  one  she  had  seen  in  General 
Haviland's  study,  stood  beside  it. 

Again  she  was  haunted  by  a  strange  sense  of 
familiarity,  a  certainty  that  this  bright,  dashing  per 
sonality  was  not  unknown  to  her.  She  had  felt  its 
charm,  she  was  sure.  Painstakingly,  slowly  she  read 
the  name, —  the  strange,  foreign  name, —  written 
boldly  beneath  it.  There  was  no  help  in  that.  She 
did  not  know  the  name. 

"  I  feels  jess  lak  when  you  kin  remember  a  tune 
an'  yit  jess  cayn't  hum  it  ner  whistle  it,"  she  thought. 
"  Is  I  saw  dat  gempman  when  I  was  li'l  an'  lived  on 
de  plantation,  I  wonders?  Sho'  am  funny  how  a 
thing  you  knows  you  knows  kin  sort  o'  fade  away  an' 
poke  its  tongue  out  at  you!" 

On  the  way  to  perform  her  third  errand,  she  was 
so  absorbed,  searching  her  mind  for  the  elusive  mem 
ory,  that  the  Twinses,  after  having  spoken  to  her 
twice  without  reply,  exchanged  anxious  glances. 

"  Twinses,"  said  Melindy  suddenly,  to  their  great 


218  Melindy 

relief,  "  I  wants  teh  ax  you  somepin'.  How  does 
you  help  yo'se'f  teh  remember  anythin'  you  done  fer- 
got?" 

"  I  doan'  never  f  ergit  nothin',"  said  Ramus,  "  'cause 
nobody  never  entrustes  me  wif  anythin'  teh  remember. 
Dey  alluz  axes  Remus  teh  remember.  I  am'  never 
remembered  nothin'  ner  fergot  nothin'." 

"  Whenebber  I  f  ergits,  I  alluz  unwinds  myse'f ," 
said  Remus. 

"  How  does  you  unwind  yo'se'f ,  Remus  ?  "  asked 
Melindy  deeply  interested. 

Remus  was  overjoyed  at  the  rarely-given  chance 
to  instruct  her  very  wise  young  leader. 

"  Well,  Melindy,"  she  explained,  "  s'posin'  ma 
Maw  sont  me  an'  Ramus  teh  de  sto'  an'  tells  us  teh 
git  a  pound  ob  soap  fer  washin'  clothes.  Well  den ; 
we  goes,  doan'  we?  Da's  natchul!  Well,  den  we 
sees  a  white  rabbit  an'  looks  at  it  awhile  in  Miss 
Pearson's  gyarden;  doan' we?  Sho'ly,  we  do.  Well, 
den  we  meets  Nanny  at  her  Maw's  missus's  house's 
gate  an'  we  gotteh  say,  '  How-d'ye,  Nanny ! ' ;  isn't 
we?  'Co'se  we  is  I  Den,  when  we  gits  teh  de  sto' 
we  is  mo'  dan  likely  teh  done  fergot  what  we  was 
sont  fer ;  ain't  us  ?  Da's  natchul,  too !  So  den  we's 
got-a.  remember  or  else  we's  got-a  git  a  lammin'.  So 
we  jess  unwinds  ourselves.  We  goes  right  back ;  firs' 
we  stops  at  Nanny's  Maw's  missus's  house's  gate  an' 
say,  *  How-d'ye,  Nanny ! ' —  den  we  sees  de  white  rab 
bit  awhile  in  Miss  Pearson's  gyarden  —  den,  by  dat 
time,  we's  home  an'  we's  done  unwound  our  minds  right 


Throwing  the  Life  Line  219 

back  teh  de  place  whar  our  Maw  sont  us  teh  de  sto' 
fo'  somefin'.  An'  so  den  we  knows  dat  she  done  sont 
us  fo' — 'what  is  I  said  she  done  sont  us  fo',  Me 
lindy?" 

Melindy  laughed.  "  You's  awful  smaht,  Twins- 
es!  "  said  she,  "  but  dat  ain't  jess  de  sort  ob  memory- 
ing  I  means.  Nemmin'!  Le's  play  we  is  m'lasses 
an'  de  streets  is  hot  gingerbread  an'  de  convent  school 
is  somebody's  mouf,  an'  le's  see  how  quick  we  kin 
run  inteh  it." 

As  the  big  convent  school  loomed  in  view,  Melindy 
looked  ruefully  at  the  fig-tree  from  which  the  heiress 
of  the  Hernandez  had  cast  missiles  and  scorn  upon 
her.  The  memory  of  that  lesson  made  her  extend 
a  hand  affectionately  to  each  of  her  faithful 
Twinses. 

Still,  the  environment  of  the  old  bewitchment,  the 
green  latticed  gate,  newly  painted  and  glowing  in  the 
distance  like  a  beacon,  restored  to  her  heart  some  of 
its  romantic  interest  in  the  child  who  had  so  stirred 
her  fancy.  She  felt  a  little  quiver  of  excitement  in 
the  hope  that  she  might  again  catch  a  glimpse  of  her 
Beautiful  Cuba. 

It  is  a  custom  in  New  Orleans  to  have  the  fine 
needlework  for  layettes,  confirmations,  graduations, 
weddings  and  all  the  great  events  of  life  made  by 
the  sisters  in  the  French  convents.  These  good  ladies 
have  preserved, —  and  they  alone,  in  equal  measure, — 
mediaeval  artistry  in  skill  with  the  needle. 

Remus  and  Ramus  waited  on  the  street  corner, 


220  Melindy 

greatly  awed  to  see  the  well-guarded  green  gate  open 
freely  to  Melindy. 

Melindy  looked  about  her  at  the  brick-paved  yard, 
the  formal  flower-beds,  the  interesting,  swarthy,  romp 
ing  children,  the  kind  little  ladies  in  black  gliding 
quietly,  commandingly  among  them.  She  stood 
where  she  had  so  often  longed  to  stand.  But  there 
was  no  trace  of  Hecuba,  the  child  who  had  so  charmed 
her. 

Two  of  the  sisters  led  Melindy  to  a  little  dark 
anteroom  and  gave  her  a  stool  to  sit  upon.  "  Wait 
here,"  said  one.  "  You  are  early.  The  last  mono 
gram  is  not  complete." 

Melindy  bowed  politely,  said  "  Thanky  ma'ms ! " 
carefully  emphasizing  the  plural,  and  took  her  seat 
as  they  left  her. 

She  would  have  preferred  to  wait  outdoors  watch 
ing  the  children,  but  she  sat  down  obediently  as 
bidden.  There  was  a  heavy  odor  of  dried  rose-petals 
rising  from  a  black-and-gold  lacquer  jar  upon  the 
table.  The  room  was  vault-like,  cool  and  languorous. 
On  the  window-pane,  behind  the  green  shade,  a  lazy 
fly  hummed  sleepily.  On  the  white  marble  mantel 
shelf  a  great  white  marble  clock  ticked  in  a  deep 
whisper. 

Melindy  was  just  drowsily  closing  her  agate-brown 
eyelids  over  her  velvet  eyes  when  a  peculiar  sound 
brought  her  wide-awake  and  at  attention. 

Somewhere  in  the  room,  someone  was  sobbing. 

Frightened  but  resolute,  Melindy  rose  and  searched. 


Throwing  the  Life  Line  221 

In  a  dark  corner,  hidden  by  an  old  settee,  she  found 
a  little  figure  huddled, —  a  pathetic  little  figure, 
relaxed  and  quivering  after  an  abandonment  of 
grief. 

Melindy  approached  and  touched  it  tenderly. 

Beautiful  Cuba,  her  great  eyes  all  but  closed  with 
weeping,  her  proud  mouth  tremulous  and  tragic, 
turned  her  head  and  looked  unseeingly  at  Melindy. 

"  Po'  K'l  lamb !  "  cried  Melindy,  pityingly,  and  took 
her  to  her  heart.  No  word  was  said.  Melindy's 
whole  being  yearned  to  give  comfort  and  the  for 
lorn  child  felt  and  reached  out  for  it.  Hecuba  cried 
silently  on  little  Melindy's  shoulder. 

Two  schoolmates  looked  in  from  the  hall. 

"  Poor  Hecuba !  "  said  one. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her?  "  asked  the  other. 

"Why,  didn't  you  know?"  unconscious  of  her 
cruel  carelessness  in  speaking  where  Hecuba  must 
hear,  or  placing  too  great  reliance  on  her  subject's 
slight  knowledge  of  English.  "  Her  father  died,  and 
her  mother  is  dead,  and  all  the  money  is  gone, —  they 
had  an  awful  lot  of  money, —  and  her  mother's  par 
ents  say  they  cannot  take  care  of  her, —  they're 
awfully  old  and  they  live  'way  off  in  Brazil, —  and 
her  father's  people  are  all  dead  or  something, —  I 
don't  know, —  but  anyway,  Hecuba  has  to  stay  here 
at  school  forever  and  be  a  charity  child  — " 

"  No !  Not  that  word !  I  will  not ! "  blazed  He 
cuba,  springing  to  her  feet  in  a  fire  of  rage.  "  I 
say  to  you,  No!  Do  you  not  know  me,  who  I  am, — 


meiinay 

me?  My  father  was  di  Hernandez!  Carlos  di  Her 
nandez  ! " 

Melindy  started.  For  one  moment  she  gazed  in 
tently  upon  Cuba,  rubbed  her  eyes  and  searched 
Cuba's  lineaments,  gravely  as  one  awakening  from  a 
dream.  Then,  she  gave  a  whoop  of  excitement  and 
to  the  amazement  of  the  three  children  fled  from  the 
building. 

Like  a  Butterfly  her  twinkling  heels  passed  the 
bewildered  Remus  and  Ramus  on  the  corner;  like 
a  bird  she  flew  back  over  the  streets  to  the  old  dim 
library  where  General  Haviland  still  sat  with  Mr. 
Mandeville.  Like  a  thing  distraught  she  poured 
forth  to  them  a  tale  that  brought  them  to  their  feet. 

"  It  is  not  possible !  "  said  Mr.  Mandeville. 

"  There  was  a  child,"  said  General  Haviland,  "  a 
child  of  his  later  years.  And,  by  George!  —  I  do 
remember !  Her  name  was  Hecuba !  " 

That  night  when  the  sudden  darkness  fell  upon 
the  old  garden,  Mr.  Mandeville  went  out  among  the 
weeds  and  tangled  bushes  and  looked  up  at  the  stars. 
He  seemed  to  grow  in  stature,  he  held  his  head  so 
high.  His  lips  moved  as  the  lips  of  one  in  prayer. 

He  passed  from  the  garden,  through  the  French 
windows  and  into  the  greater  darkness  of  the  library. 
He  lit  a  candle  and  held  it  before  the  faded  picture 
of  Carlos  di  Hernandez.  The  candle  light  fell  upon 
the  vase  of  cactus  flowers  that  Nathalie  had  sent. 
Ebers  Mandeville  broke  a  brilliant  blossom  from  its 


JL  mowing  me 

stem  and  mounted  the  stairs,  bearing  it  in  one  hand 
and  the  lighted  candle  in  the  other. 

Very  softly  he  entered  a  great  chamber,  bare,  all 
but  unfurnished. 

Here,  on  a  cot  in  the  moonlight,  lay  a  child  asleep. 

Shading  his  candle,  the  old  man  bent  above  her. 

Even  in  sleep,  there  was  fire  under  her  dark  lids, 
there  were  flame  and  life  in  the  passionate  relaxation 
of  the  wide-flung  arms,  defiance  in  the  unrestrained 
dark  cloud  of  hair,  eager  charm  in  the  parted  lips. 

Mr.  Mandeville  laid  the  red  flower  on  the  pillow 
beside  the  child.  A  great  tear  fell  like  a  drop  of 
dew  upon  it. 

"  Our  daughter,  Carlos !  "  the  old  scholar  whispered. 

The  child  turned,  half  opened  her  eyes,  murmured 
sleepily,  "  My  new  Uncle  Ebers ! "  and  closed  her 
warm  fingers  upon  his  trembling  hand. 

To  his  boys  in  the  cottage,  General  Haviland  was 
saying,  "  Thus  Melindy  threw  him  the  life-line !  As 
Ebers  says  that  some  Japanese  theorists  hold, —  on 
what  insignificant  agencies  our  destinies  depend ! " 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  CENTER  OF  THE  STAGE 

"  Sis  SUKY,  kin  I  please'm,  put  on  ma  red  gloves 
to  go  to  de  school  graduation  exercises?  Ma  red 
gloves  is  so  pretty  an*  sweet." 

"Fo'  de  land's  sake,  chile!  Is  you  sho'  'nough 
crazy  haided?  Gloves!  It's  de  hottes'  day  in  de 
year." 

"  Well,  ma  hands  feel  kine  o'  cole,  Sis  Suky." 

"  Come  hyah  teh  me  an'  lemme  tech  'em.  No,  dey 
doan'.  Dey  doan'  feel  cole  teh  me  at  all." 

"  Well,  dey  feels  cole  teh  me  an'  Fse  jined  on  teh 
dem.  Kin  I,  please'm,  wear  ma  pretty  red  gloves, 
Sis  Suky?" 

Suky  waived  reply. 

"  Does  you  know  yo'  piece  de  teacher  writ  out  fo' 
you  to  say, — '  Farewell  teh  de  Graduates  '  ?  " 

"Oh,  yas'm!"  Melindy's  face  fell.  "It's  a 
awful  silly  piece,"  she  added  ruefully. 

"  Stand  ober  dar,  while  I  whip  up  dis  custard,  an' 
say  it  so's  I  kin  see  ef  you  knows  it  right." 

"  I  knows  it  right  smart  enough,"  obediently  tak 
ing  her  stand  opposite  Suky.  "  Shall  I  make  dat  li'l 
fool  cutsey  dat  looks  lak  beginnin'  to  set  down  on  de 
floor  an'  changin'  yo'  mind  an'  bouncin'  up  agin'  ?  " 


The  Center  of  ~the  Stage  225 

"  Yes.     Do  it  all,  de  way  she  tole  you.     Doan'  talk 
so  much,  but  go  ahaid  an'  do  it." 
So  Melindy  curtsied  and  began: 

"  Dear  Schoolmates  who  are  about  teh  leave  us  — 

"  Now  am'  dat  silly,  Sis  Suky?  Why  is  dey  about 
teh  leave  us?  Maria  libs  jess  'cross  de  street  at  de 
Lyonses  and  Tom  an'  Judy  play  right  ober  dar  at 
Bienville's  whar  deir  daddy  works,  an'  I  goes  to  Sun 
day  School  wif  three  of  'em,  an'  I  sees  'em  all,  all 
ober  de  y earth,  more'n  I  wants  teh.  'Bout  teh  leave 
us.  Huh! 

"  Dear  Schoolmates,  who  are  about  teh  leave  us. 
You  are  gwine  out  inteh  de  great  worl' — 

"  Whar's  dat?     Dey  ain't  gwine  no-place. 
"Well  equipped  fo'  life's  battles  — 

"  Ef  dat  Judy  saw  a  battle,  she'd  run  a  mile, —  ef 
she  didn'  die  ob  fright  bef o'  she  got  a  start. 

"Well  equipped  fo'  life's  battles,  by  what  you 
hab  learned  hyah  — 

"  All  I  kin  say  is,  Sis  Suky,  dat  dey's  mighty  easy 
equipped. 

"  We  know  dat  you  will  live  nobly  up  teh  de  bes* 
dat  has  been  taught  you, — 

"  Wish  I  could  hold  up  two  fingers  of  each  hand 
when  I  says  dat,  teh  show  it's  a  quotation.  Mebbe 


de  teacher  knows  it,  but  we  chilluns  doan'  know  whar 
dem  graduates  gwine  do. 

"  You  shall  be  sadly  missed  Turn  yo'  accustomed 
places  — 

"  Our  class  is  gwine-a  hab  dat  class's  desks  next 
term  an'  dey's  de  bes'  desks  in  de  school.  Us  kin 
hahdly  wait  'twell  dem  graduates  gits  out. 

"An*  all  de  happy  hours  we  spent  togedder  — 

"  Dey  warn't  nothin'  speshul ! 

"shell  be  fo*  ebber  remembe'd.    Remember  us 
too,  deah  f  rien's, — 

"  Ain't  much  chance  to  f  ergit  us  when  we  runs 
into  'em  eberywhar  dey  goes. 

"An'  be  free  to  call  upon  us  fo'  all  de  lovin' 
kinenesses  dat  frien's  kin  render  frien's.— 

"  Hope  dat  ole  Tom  won't  think  he  kin  keep 
a-comin'  hyah,  borrowin'  all  ma  belongin's  an'  never 
bringin'  'em  back,  jess  'cause  I  done  spoke  dat  po- 
'try. 

"Farewell!    May  all  de  joys  in  de  worP  be  wif 
you!"— 

Here  Melindy  laughed  roguishly,  "  I  hopes  dey'll 
leave  jess  a  few  joys  fo'  de  res'  ob  us!  Hey,  Sis? 

"  All  de  joys,  de  blessin's  and  de  virtues.    Fare 
well  teh  you,  boys  an*  gals,  teh  one  an'  all !  — 


The  Center  of  the  Stage  227 

"  One  an'  all!  Which  one,  I  wonders?  Den  I 
makes  ma  bow  agin. 

"  An'  de  graduatin'  class  done  heard  me  rehearse 
tellin'  'em  *  Farewell!'  ebery  day  fo'  a  month. 
Reckon  dey'll  be  mighty  pleased  teh  think  dey's  a- 
lissinin'  fo'  de  las'  time,  Sis  Suky. 

"  Ev'y  time  I  meets  Maria  on  de  street  she  say, 
*  Farewell ! '  an'  I  say,  *  To  one  an'  all,  to  two  an'  all, 
to  three  an'  all,  to  fo'  an'  all!'  I  laks  dat  Maria. 
She's  real  pleasant. 

"  Kin  I  wear  ma  red  gloves,  Sis  Suky?  " 

"  I'll  see  what  Miss  Carrie  say  'bout  dat,"  evaded 
Suky.  "  Seems  teh  me  dat  all  creamy  white  is  much 
prettier  fo'  Commencement  Day." 

"  Well,  Sis,  when  I  sees  a  row  ob  li'l  brown  niggahs 
all  in  white  dresses  it  makes  ma  mouf  water  f  o'  choc 
olate  an'  vanilla  ice  cream,"  teased  Melindy. 

"  Well,  anyway,  I'se  got  teh  go  practice  ma  song. 
Ma  song's  real  pretty,"  tentatively. 

But  all  singing  unless  its  content  came  from  the 
hymnal  seemed  to  Suky  irreligious  and  vain.  There 
fore  Melindy  was  not  encouraged  to  proceed. 

Upstairs,  Eulalia  and  the  boys  were  beseeching 
to  be  taken  to  hear  Melindy  speak  her  piece  and  sing 
her  song.  Miss  Carrie  demurred,  but  Nathalie  came 
to  the  rescue. 

"  I'll  go  with  them,  Carolina ;  I'd  love  to.  We  can 
drive  there  and  have  the  horses  wait.  It  will  be  a 
lark  and  Melindy  would  so  enjoy  having  the  children 
present." 


iviennay 

"  All  right, —  Everybody's  Friend!  Go  on.  But, 
seriously,  my  dear,  I  have  some  uneasiness  as  to  how 
far  we  ought  to  encourage  Melindy's  love  of  admira 
tion.  I  wouldn't  make  her  arrogant  or  selfish  and 
forward  and  self-seeking  for  the  world." 

"Melindy?  You  couldn't.  She  loves  praise  just 
as  every  one  does.  Only  she's  frank  enough  to  enjoy 
it  openly.  She  isn't  a  bit  selfish  and  wants  others 
to  be  praised  too.  And  this  is  such  a  great  occa 
sion!" 

The  great  and  rapturous  occasion  began  for  Me 
lindy  with  the  family's  inspection  of  her  glory,  when 
she  came  "  all  duded  up  "  into  Miss  Carrie's  room 
before  her  departure. 

Her  white  embroidery  frock,  her  mistress's  gift,  was 
bedecked  with  gorgeous  bright  blue  bows, —  a  con 
cession  for  the  denial  of  the  scarlet  gloves.  Her  slen 
der  black-stockinged  legs  terminated  in  wonderful 
shiny  black  slippers  with  enormous  blue  love  knots; 
her  "  pig-tails  "  were  tied  generously  with  blue,  and 
she  wore  Suky's  blue  china  beads. 

Suky  was  large,  even  ponderous.  The  blue  bead 
chain  that  amply  fit  her  ample  girth  was  festooned 
into  five  long  necklaces  upon  Melindy.  On  her  arm 
were  braided  bracelets  made  of  the  young  palmetto, — 
latania  —  by  the  Indians  who  kept  their  posts  around 
the  old  French  market.  Heavy  cheap  perfumes  had 
been  literally  poured  upon  her. 

In  spite  of  all  the  artificial  deterrents,  she  was 
charming.  Her  dimples  were  never  still,  her  eyes 


The  Center  of  the  Stage  229 

were  aglow,  her  tiny  white  teeth  flashed,  she  twinkled 
from  head  to  heels,  first  on  one  foot  then  on  the  other, 
aglow  with  delightful  anticipation. 

And  glory  of  glories !  Her  "  white  folks  "  were 
coming  to  the  exercises !  She  was  going  to  drive  up 
in  state  in  the  carriage  with  her  white  folks. 

The  carriage  driven  by  Lewis,  laden  with  Nathalie 
and  the  children,  went  slowly.  On  the  sidewalk  close 
behind,  all  the  negro  servants  of  the  household  and 
many  admiring  friends,  young  and  old,  walked 
proudly  in  proud  Suky's  train.  One  on  each  side  of 
Suky  came  the  devoted  Twinses,  extra  starched, 
crackling  in  dignity  and  triumph. 

A  shrill  whistle  came  across  the  street  to  them, 
followed  by  hoots,  jeers  and  all  manner  of  cat-calls. 

The  Boy  from  Back  o'  Town  with  a  bundle  under 
his  arm  and  his  eyes  straight  in  front, —  so  that  he 
might  have  been  hooting  the  thin  air  for  all  contrary 
legal  evidence  that  could  be  adduced  —  passed 
quickly,  on  the  run. 

But  Melindy's  ecstasy  was  beyond  the  reach  of 
vulgar  insult. 

The  school  exercises  were  held  in  the  lodge  hall  of 
the  Colored  Knights  of  Lohengrin, —  a  stable-like 
structure  with  a  stage. 

It  was  ablaze  with  lights  and  banners.  Already 
almost  all  the  canvas  folding-chairs  were  filled  with 
the  excited  "  kin-folks  "  of  the  graduates  and  per 
formers. 

From  the  room  back  of  the  stage  a  steady  rising 


230  Melindy 

murmur  indicated  that  the  pupils  of  the  school  were 
fast  congregating  for  the  great  event. 

Squeals  of  envious  pleasure  went  up  when  Me 
lindy  entered  with  her  panoply  of  blue  ribbons  and 
the  gorgeous  beads. 

The  girls  and  boys  were  crowded  close  about  the 
perspiring  teacher,  a  young  and  not  very  efficient 
colored  woman,  who  vainly  endeavored  to  separate 
performers  and  graduates  from  the  rank  and  file  of 
the  school. 

Some  of  the  children  were  hysterically  giggling, 
many  were  "  saying  their  pieces  "  over  and  over  under 
their  breath,  afraid  lest  some  rare  gem  escape  their 
minds  at  the  last  unguarded  moment.  Some  were  in 
a  panic  of  stage  fright. 

Only  one  to  whom  excitement  was  the  breath  of 
life,  one  whose  self-confidence  allowed  no  fear  of  fail 
ure,  sailed  serenely  through  the  tangled  n\ass,  smiling 
and  degagee. 

"  Fo'  de  Ian'  sakes,  chilluns ! "  she  said  with  great 
good  humor,  "  cayn't  you-all  git  in  line  lak  Teacher 
tell  you  ?  Looky  hyah, —  shet  up  a  minute ;  you-all 
talks  lak  a  parrot  dat  done  swallered  a  alarm  clock  — 
Shet  up,  cayn't  you?  Teacher  cayn't  answer  all  de 
questions  at  once.  Now  all  dat's  got  to  go  on  de 
stage  git  ober  yonder  an'  all  de  res'  ob  you  git  ober 
yander.  Das  de  way.  Now,  you-all  ober  dar  ax  de 
teacher  questions  and  you-all  ober  hyah  kin  ax  me. 
An'  ef  I  doan'  know  de  answers,"  smiling,  "  well,  den, 
I  won't  tell  you  dem. 


The  Center  of  the  Stage  231 

"  An'  doan'  be  worried  'bout  yo'  pieces,  M'ria  an' 
Tom.  I'll  set  right  nigh  de  bofe  ob  you,  an'  ef  you 
fergits  any  part  I  kin  tell  you.  I  knows  all  yo' 
pieces.  I  says  'em  in  ma  sleep." 

Poor  Maria,  who  had  been  chosen  Valedictorian 
of  her  class,  felt  that  her  valedictory  would  indeed 
be  a  farewell  address. 

"  Oh,  M'lindy,"  said  she,  "  ef  ever  I  lives  through 
dis-ar  piece,  I  'specks  I'll  jess  die  ob  joy.  M'lindy, 
I  kin  feel  dat  piece  jess  leakm9  outen  ma  haid." 

"  Hurry  up,  den,  put  yo'  fingers  in  yo'  years ! 
You'll  be  all  right,  Maria. 

"  Come-long,  now  chilluns.  Yeah's  de  music. 
Ta-lala-la,  Ta-la-la ! " 

The  file  of  trembling  children  entered,  to  applause. 
Most  of  them  were  miserable  in  two  extremities,  in 
their  minds,  which  felt  too  empty,  and  their  shoes, 
which  felt  too  full. 

Poor  Artemisia's  new  slippers  held  her  literally 
rooted  to  the  spot,  and  poor  Maria  shuffled  forward 
as  one  doomed. 

A  few  better-poised  characters  grinned  at  their 
friends  in  the  audience  with  enjoyment  of  their  own 
transitory  importance. 

Melindy  was  always  important.  But  her  soul  de 
voured  this  occasion. 

The  minister  asked  a  blessing,  to  which  many  of 
the  children  most  eagerly  assented, —  they  felt  that 
they  needed  it  and  the  few  moments  of  prayer  put  off 
the  evil  hour  of  trial. 


232  Melindy 

The  opening  chorus  was  sung  in  a  hazy  dream. 
The  too  ambitious  teacher  had  chosen  an  air  from  the 
Bohemian  Girl,  utterly  uninteresting  to  her  charges. 
If  only  a  song  of  Melindy's  selection  could  have  been 
given  to  warm  them  up,  the  terrible  misfortune  might 
not  have  fallen  upon  them. 

But,  no!  Slowly  dragged  the  melody  in  plaintive 
tones,  slowly  descended  the  fear. 

Tom  was  called  to  the  front  to  recite  "  Horatius." 

Tom  was  a  steady,  plodding,  earnest  lad  on  whom 
one  could  always  depend  for  anything  that  was  com 
monplace  and  expected.  He  had  no  flame,  but  a 
steady  glow. 

He  licked  his  lips  over  and  over  and  began  in 
tremolo : 

"  Porsena Clusium 

nine  gods swo* 

great  house Tarkin 

Sh'suF  wrong  n*  mo* 

nine  gods  —  swo*  it 

Umm  —  m  —  trystin'  day 
An*  bady  messingies  ride  fo'th 
Eas*  an'  wes*  an*  souf  an'  norf 
'Ummon  'is-array." 

For  an  endless  time  the  shaky  unintelligible  drawl 
continued.  And  panic  crept  over  the  pupils,  drow 
siness  over  the  audience  like  a  cloud. 

As  a  clock  runs  down  Tom's  voice  ceased  motion. 
He  bowed  and  took  his  seat  amid  wild  applause  that 
scared  him  more  than  the  ordeal  had. 

"Oh!     Foolish  teacher,"  thought  Miss  Nathalie, 


The  Center  of  the  Stage  233 

"  now,  now  is  your  opportunity.  Call  upon  Me- 
lindy  now ! " 

But  the  teacher  was  saving  her  best  effects  to  make 
a  climax,  as  she  thought. 

She  achieved  one  sooner  than  she  expected. 

A  song  followed  Tom's  effort  and  served  to  stimu 
late  jaded  faculties  a  trifle. 

Maria  whispered  to  Melindy,  "  How  do  ma  piece  be 
gin,  Melindy  ?  How  do  ma  piece  begin  ?  " 

Melindy  told  her. 

"  Oh !  I  hopes  I  kin  'member.  I  hopes  I  kin.  Ma 
pa'll  sho*  lick  me  wif  a  slipper  ef  I  doan'.  How  do 
it  go?  Tell  me  agin." 

Melindy  told  her. 

Artemisia  leaned  forward  and  whispered  in  Me- 
lindy's  ear,  "  Honey,  does  you  think  anybody'll  see 
me  ef  I  slips  off  ma  slippers  jess  fo'  a  second?  Dey 
shore  is  scaldin*  ma  feets." 

Before  Melindy  could  advise,  the  awful  call  came 
forth,  "Maria!" 

Someone  rose.  Maria  was  not  conscious  of  any 
part  in  that  motion  until  she  found  herself  standing 
tongue-tied  before  a  sea  of  troubled  faces. 

"  Bow !  "   commanded  Teacher. 

Maria  bowed. 

"  Dear  teachers,  schoolmates,  classmates  an' 
frien's,"  frantically  whispered  Melindy  behind  her. 

Maria  acquiesced. 

Undoubtedly  those  were  the  words.  Only  she 
could  not  say  them. 


234.  Melindy 

TKe  terrible  pause  grew  longer.  Maria's  mother 
got  out  her  pocket-handkerchief.  Maria's  father 
doubled  his  fists.  Somebody  in  the  rear  of  the  room 
snickered,  but  was  immediately  silenced  by  the  inim 
ical  glares  of  popular  disapproval. 

Maria  stood  petrified. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  embarrassed  teacher.  "  Try 
again  later." 

Someone  sat  down.  Maria  found  herself  in  the 
chair.  She  was  still  beyond  the  reach  of  any  emotion 
but  bewildered  horror. 

Melindy's  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"  Jenny !  "  called  the  teacher. 

Jenny  rose  very  quickly  and  fairly  ran  forward. 
Her  "  piece "  was  James  Whitcomb  Riley's  "  Rag 
gedy  Man."  She  gave  such  an  impression  of  eager 
ness  that  every  one  breathed  a  sigh  of  expectant  re 
lief.  But  her  hurry  was  mere  hysteria. 

"  De  raggeddy,  raggeddy,  raggeddy  man," 

began  Jenny.     Then  in  a  silly  giggle  continued, 

"De  raggeddy,  raggeddy,  raggeddy  man, 
De  raggeddy,  raggeddy,  raggeddy  man, 
De  raggeddy,  raggeddy,  raggeddy  man!" 

with  laughter  mounting  higher, 

"De  raggeddy,  raggeddy,  raggeddy  man, 
De  raggeddy,  raggeddy,  raggeddy  man!" 

Hilariously,  accompanied  by  all  the  audience, 
"De  raggeddy,  raggeddy,  raggeddy  man!" 


The  Center  of  the  Stage  235 

until  the  distracted  teacher  came  and  dragged  her 
bodily  from  the  scene,  still  calling, 

"De  raggeddy,  raggeddy,  raggeddy  man!" 

in  a  wild  falsetto. 

Then  pandemonium!  Some  children  incontinently 
fled  to  the  dressing  room;  many  sat  bathed  in  tears; 
the  teacher's  lips  trembled  with  shame  and  vexation. 
She  had  completely  lost  control  of  the  situation. 
Several  cried  out  urging  it  upon  her  that  they  had 
forgotten  their  parts  and  must  not  be  called;  others 
sobbed  aloud.  Maria  still  was  a  statue. 

Melindy  rose  and  came  to  the  footlights.  She  held 
out  her  skirts  prettily  and  made  her  "  cutsey." 

Tears  and  beseechings  ceased.  Even  Maria  and 
the  despairing  teacher  looked  out  interestedly.  The 
sudden  silence  brought  the  deserters  back  from  the 
dressing  room  to  the  stage. 

"  Lemme  tell  you-all  somefin',"  said  Melindy  con 
fidentially.  "  Somebody's  done  hoodooed  dis-hyah 
school.  We's  real  smart  when  we's  well." 

Paeans  of  delighted  laughter  greeted  this  sally. 

"You  see,"  Melindy  continued,  "we  ain'  used  to 
bein'  so  fixed  up  an'  in  a  real  hall  an'  havin'  ebery- 
body  starin'  at  us  lak  we's  jess  somefin  elegant. 

"  Now,  please,  ladies,  an'  gempmen,  jess  stay  whar 
you  is  an'  doan'  laugh  ner  clap  ner  nothin', —  jess 
pertend  you'se  gone  asleep.  An'  I'll  fix  up  dese  hyah 
busted  up  graduation  exercises.  Sh-h-h !  "  she  called, 
holding  up  her  finger  warningly. 


236  Melin'dy 

The  audience  chuckled,  the  children  forgot  to  be 
self-conscious,  frightened  and  wretched,  as  they  con 
fidently  waited  for  Melindy  to  "  fix-up "  the  sad 
fiasco.  The  tearful  teacher,  smiling  sheepishly,  re 
tired  in  her  favor. 

Melindy  turned  her  back  on  the  spectators, —  not 
forgetting  to  rearrange  the  gay  blue  sash  —  and 
faced  the  scholars. 

The  well-known  dimply  smile  was  in  itself  a  new 
lease  upon  every-day  calm. 

"  Reckon  we-all  didn'  hab  no  dress-up  rehearsal," 
she  said.  "Das  de  trouble.  Marse  George's  Shak- 
spere  Society  always  hab  a  dress-up  rehearsal.  An' 
dey  sho'  do  look  lak  Mardi  Gras !  M ens  wif  li'l  puff- 
ses  fo'  pants!  —  So  now,  we'll  jess  stand  sideways, 
so's  de  aujence  cayn't  git  a  good  look  at  us,  an'  we 
won't  speak  so  very  loud,  an'  I'll  be  de  teacher  an' 
stand  ober  hyah  an'  you'll  be  de  scholars  an'  jess  look 
at  me  an'  we-all  will  jess  practice  our  pieces.  An'  if 
we  done  f ergot  'em  we'll  jess  say  some  udder  piece 
dat  we  ain't  fergot." 

The  children,  accustomed  to  following  Melindy's 
lead  and  fired  with  the  novelty  of  the  game  and  the 
hope  of  relief  from  their  disgrace,  allowed  her  to 
hypnotize  them  into  forgetfulness  of  the  invited 
guests. 

They  sang  their  songs  and  spoke  their  pieces  with 
gusto.  Miraculously  the  lost  words  and  tunes  re 
stored  themselves. 


The  Center  of  the  Stage  237 

The  audience,  too,  tried  hard  to  obey  instructions 
and  be  silent. 

But  it  was  hard  not  to  applaud  when,  Melindy 
having  called,  "  Maria,  come  along  now.  'Member 
we-uns  ain'  nebber  gwine-a  fergib  you,  ef  you  leave 
dis-hyah  school  widout  tellin'  good-by  teh  yo'  dear 
teachers,  schoolmates,  classmates  an'  frien's  who 
hab  been  wif  you  all  through  yo'  years  ob  child 
hood  — " 

" —  bofe  in  work  an'  in  play,"  Maria  took  up  the 
tale  and  carried  it  to  a  triumphant  end. 

It  was  a  strain  not  to  laugh  aloud  when  at  the  call 
of  his  name  Tom  began  "  Horatius  "  and  Melindy 
stopped  him  saying,  "  Tommy,  we  doan'  lak  dat  ole 
pome  'bout  soldiers  sassin'  each  yuther.  We  laks  yo' 
piece  'bout  de  yaller  gal.  Dat's  a  awful  pretty  piece. 
Say  dat  now."  And  Tom  dutifully  began : 

Once  dey  was  a  yaller  gal, 
Had  possum  in  a  pot; 
'Long  dey  come  some  company 
An'  sot  an'  sot  an'  sot. 

Five  was  in  de  company, 
'Possum  'nough  fo'  four. 
Yaller  gal  got  up  teh  talk, 
Aidgin'  to  de  door. 

Company's  a  mind  to  stay, 
Lak  dat  'possum  smell, 
Say,  "  It's  early  in  de  day, 
Guess  we'll  stop  a  spell." 


Melmdy 

Yaller  gal  say,  "Gwine  teh  rain, 
Cloud's  begun  to  swell," 
Comp'ny  sing  out,  "Dat  doan'  hurt, 
We's  got  a  omberell." 

Yaller  gal  jess  dyin'  to  eat 
Feel  herse'f  git  thinner, 
Say,  "Please  entertain  yo'se'f, 
While  I  go  eat  ma  dinner." 

Gibs  'em  an  ole  book  to  read, 
Comp'ny  say,  "  Good-day ! 
It's  gittin'  late,  it's  gwine  to  rain, 
We  libs  so  fur  away!" 

The  audience  could  contain  itself  no  longer.  It 
rose  in  a  burst  of  laughter  and  applause. 

The  happy  school  turned  to  face  it,  and  so  facing 
sang  heartily,  spontaneously  the  farewell  song. 

The  laughing  minister  "  gave  out "  the  certificates, 
all  tied  in  crimson  ribbon. 

The  proud  graduates  and  their  schoolfellows  de 
scended  to  the  plaudits  of  the  crowd. 

Nathalie  folded  Melindy  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her. 
Suky  wiped  her  eyes  and  patted  the  child's  head 
proudly. 

"I  sho'  war  smart  to  mek  'em  say  dey  pieces  so 
pretty,"  Melindy  congratulated  herself  as  they  went 
out  into  the  starlight  to  the  carriage. 

A  dissatisfied  grunt  at  her  elbow  made  her  turn 
sharply  around. 

There  stood  Edwin  Hadley  Osborne  La  Rouche 
with  a  big  bouquet  in  his  arms. 


The  Center  of  the  Stage  239 

"  Smart  nothin' !  "  he  growled.  "  Didn't  I  come  all 
de  way  up  hyah  teh  gib  you  dese  flowers  when  you 
done  spoke  yo'  piece  an'  sung  yo'  song?  An'  you9s 
de  only  one  dat  am9  spoke  a  piece  ner  sung  a  song  ner 
done  nothin9!  " 

Melindy  stopped  aghast.  It  was  true!  Lost  in 
her  role  of  teacher,  saving  the  day  for  the  others,  she 
had  not  called  upon  herself ! 

Then  she  dimpled. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "das  a'right.  Eberybody 
knows  dat  I  kin  speak  an'  sing.  Thanks  f  o'  de  flow 
ers,  Edwin." 

Miss  Nathalie  laughed. 

"  Caroline  needn't  worry  about  Melindy's  being 
spoiled  and  wanting  to  have  all  the  glory.  Bless  her ! 
And  as  for  trying  to  preempt  the  center  of  the 
stage, —  why  she  doesn't  have  to.  Wherever  Me 
lindy  is,  the  center  of  the  stage  is  there." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  GARDEN  OF  THE  GODS 

THE  Northern  moon  is  the  soul  of  the  night ;  the 
Southern  moon  is  its  heart.  The  Northern  moon  is 
the  sculptor's  Diana,  cold,  austere,  distant,  serene; 
but  the  Southern  moon  is  that  dazzling  virgin  her 
self,  the  goddess  a  glimpse  of  whose  radiance  drove 
men  mad.  A  golden  moon,  a  moon  that  denies  the 
astronomers,  is  not  content  to  reflect  the  sun  but 
must  give  out  light  of  itself !  The  moon  in  the  North 
sends  beams  of  luscent  crystal,  but  the  moon  of  the 
South  unfurls  glowing  sheets  of  true  transparent 
gold.  The  Northern  moon  inspires  the  poet  to  dream 
of  lovers,  but  the  moon  in  the  South  is  the  lamp  of 
love. 

It  flooded  the  garden  of  the  Big  White  House,  pul 
sating  with  the  perfumes  of  thousands  of  flowers; 
it  swept  triumphantly  across  the  porches  through 
sweet  vine  curtains ;  it  glimmered  among  the  twinkling 
leaves  of  the  camphor  trees  and  shimmered  on  the 
sword-blades  of  the  palms;  it  cast  its  illumina 
tion  on  the  hoary  moss  of  the  live-oak,  changing  its 
gray  age  to  shining  youth ;  it  made  true  lanterns  of 
light  of  the  great  magnolia  blossoms  and  charmed 
the  lily-pond  to  be  a  mirror  of  its  loveliness. 

240 


The  Garden  of  the  Gods     241 

Nathalie  stood  upon  the  steps  and  gloried  in  the 
beauty. 

"  Oh,  come !  Carolina,  come !  "  she  called.  "  Come, 
George,  come !  You  must  not  miss  a  moment  of  this 
night.  The  cereus  blossoms  chose  a  wonderful  time 
to  be  born.  They  will  know  how  beauteous  the  world 
is  as  soon  as  they  open  their  eyes  upon  it.  Oh !  I  do 
hope  our  guests  will  be  early ! " 

"  One  will,"  teased  Marse  George  from  the  hall. 
"  There's  Robert  now  I  believe.  Good-even,  Doctor 
Bob!" 

The  young  Doctor  came  briskly  up  the  pathway. 

"  Agostine  and  Gerald  may  be  a  little  late,"  he  an 
nounced.  "  Uncle  is  coming  with  Mr.  Mandeville 
and  little  Hecuba." 

The  occasion  of  the  opening  of  the  night-blooming 
cereus  flowers, —  especially  when  a  large  number  are 
due  to  open  on  one  night, —  is  made  an  informal  fiesta 
in  New  Orleans  gardens.  Friends  gather  to  see  the 
marvelous  unfolding  of  the  large,  waxy,  etherealized- 
fleshy,  fragrant  oval  buds  as,  for  a  period  of  hours, 
they  swell  to  maturity,  then  suddenly  burst  into  enor 
mous  many-pointed  stars,  all  purest  white  except  the 
golden  sun  at  the  heart,  and  pour  forth  streams  of 
luxuriant  perfume. 

Twenty  blossoms  were  to  reach  their  prime  that 
night  and  friends  were  coming  to  see  their  splendor. 

At  a  distance,  behind  the  rose-trellis,  awaiting  their 
guests,  too,  sat  the  servants  with  banjos  and  refresh- 


242  Melmdy 

merit.  They  would  be  summoned  to  enjoy  the 
beauty  of  the  blossoms  when  they  opened.  No  fam 
ily  celebration  in  the  Big  White  House  ever  over 
looked  these  family  wards  and  friends. 

Peter,  Eustace,  Eulalia  and  Melindy,  allowed  to 
"  stay  up  "  for  the  great  occasion,  ran  from  group 
to  group  enjoying  their  unusual  ^privilege. 

"  Ef  you  gits  sleepy,  Missy  Euly,  honey,"  warned 
Melindy,  "  you  musn'  be  a  li'l  goosey-gander  an'  go 
tellin'  Mammy  dat  you's  sleepy,  'cause,  ef  you  does, 
Mammy '11  sho'ly  put  you  teh  bed.  Den,  whar'll  you 
be?  Now,  jess  lissen  teh  me,  Missy  'Lalia!  You 
jess  tell  yo'  own  Melindy  ef  you's  sleepy  an'  I'll  jess 
tuck  you  up  in  de  hammock  an'  wake  you  when  de 
posies  opens." 

"Will  that  be  all  fair,  Melmdy?" 

Melindy  gazed  at  her  in  admiring  exasperation. 

"  Missy,"  said  she,  "  dat-ar  goodness  ob  yourn  sut- 
tinly  is  a  drawback.  Of  co'se,  it's  all  fair.  Ain't 
hammockses  dar  fo'  folks  teh  sleep  in?  Didn'  your 
mother  say  you-all  could  stay  up?  Is  gwine  teh  bed 
stayin'  up?  Missy  Euly,  you  minds  me  ob  a  li'l  boy 
up  on  de  plantation.  He  was  so  do-es-you're-toldsy, 
jess  lak  you  is.  One  day  he  done  promise  his  Maw 
he  wouldn'  ax  f  o'  nothin'  when  he  went  teh  pay  a  visit 
down  de  road  an'  spend  de  day.  An'  while  he  was 
dar  spendin'  de  day,  his  li'l  suspender  button  done 
bus'ed  off,  an'  dat  obedient  li'l  id  jit  had  teh  hold  his 
clothes  on  all  day  long  wif  his  hands,  'cause  he  was 
too  mortal  good  to  ax  fo'  a  pin." 


The  Garden  of  the  Gods     243 

"That  was  a  little  bit  silly,  Melindy.  But  you 
mustn't  break  promises,  you  know." 

"No'm.  Das-so!"  agreed  Melindy.  "You 
doesn'  need  teh  bus'  dem ;  dat's  a  f ac'.  But  you  kin 
sometimes  jess  sort-er  Jean  over  'em  fo'  a  minute. 
Oh!  Looky!  Hyah  comes  all  de  li'l  niggahs  in  de 
city.  Us  must  be  goin'-a  hold  a  camp-meetin'." 

Through  the  back  gate  came  Artemisia,  Nanny, 
Lucy,  Jake  and  Remus  and  Ramus,  all  trying  to  ig 
nore  Edwin  Hadley  Osborne  La  Rouche,  the  Boy 
from  Back  o'  Town,  who  danced  around  them  in  a 
circle,  singing  in  a  whispered  imitation  of  his  pro 
fessional  manner,  "  Oh  !  See  de  black-berries !  Hyah 
y'are !  Fraish  blackberries !  " 

Melindy  hurried  back  to  do  the  honors,  while  Eu- 
lalia  rushed  forward  to  meet  Agostine  entering  with 
Gerald. 

Close  behind  them  came  General  Haviland  and  Mr. 
Mandeville  with  his  little  Hecuba,  who  clung  to  his 
hand  with  both  of  hers  and  looked  about  her  with 
marveling  eyes. 

"  Lovely !  "  she  sighed,  "  Loveliest  garden ! " 

In  spite  of  her  awed  admiration,  her  feeling  of 
strangeness  and  her  significant  tight  clutch  upon 
"  Uncle  Ebers's  "  hand,  she  greeted  her  new  acquaint 
ances  with  a  superbly  poised  grace  and  courtesy,  un- 
childishly  correct  and  formal. 

But  Miss  Carrie's  mother-sense  perceived  the  ti 
midity  in  the  beaming,  brave  eyes  of  the  little  stran 
ger.  Her  quick  vision  reached  the  momentary  quiver 


ivieimdy 

of  the  proudly  pouting  lower  lip.  And  her  heart 
burned  to  heat  the  nervously  cold  fingers  of  the  small 
swarthy  hand  placed  so  politely  in  hers. 

Miss  Carrie  dropped  upon  her  knees  and  put  her 
arms  about  Hecuba  and  held  her  close  and  kissed  her 
lips.  The  child  gave  a  laughing  sob  and  returned 
the  kiss, —  so  warmly !  —  and  became  a  little  girl 
again,  unself -conscious  and  at  ease. 

Little  Eulalia  came  and  took  her  hand, —  a  true 
daughter  of  the  house. 

"Would  you  wish  to  see  my  Cheeweety?  "  she  in 
vited.  "  She's  asleep  now.  But  you  can  see  her. 
She  all  fluffs  up  when  she's  asleep.  Maybe  you  won't 
like  her.  /  think  she's  very  pretty ;  but  Melindy  says 
that  if  they  killed  things  for  being  pretty  my  Chee 
weety  would  be  the  last  chicken  left  in  the  world." 

Hecuba,  not  understanding  the  words  but  feeling 
Eulalia's  hospitality,  smiled  upon  her  and  the  two 
went  off  together.  But  Hecuba  was  not  ungrateful 
to  the  source  of  her  new  happiness.  "  I  wish,  if  you 
please,  to  see  the  little  brown  Melindy, —  for  she  was 
my  first  of  friends,"  she  requested. 

The  night-blooming  cereus  buds  were  slow  in  swell 
ing.  Pending  the  tardy  achievement  of  Flora,  other 
gods  and  heroes  took  possession  of  the  garden. 

Back  of  the  rose-trellis,  gently  the  banjo  twanged 
and  husky-sweet  voices,  led  by  Rastus  and  Sis  Han 
nah  Jackson, —  those  wondrous  organ-toned  negro 
voices  —  seductive  as  Orpheus,  floated  tenderly  on 
the  air. 


The  Garden  of  the  'Gods  245 

Led  by  Eros,  Robert  and  Our  Nathalie  laughed 
among  the  roses,  Gerald  and  Agostine  bent  pensively 
above  the  water-lily  pool. 

Hercules,  skilled  in  friendship,  rejoiced  in  the  old 
soldier  and  old  scholar  who  tramped  the  winding  path 
ways,  arm  in  arm. 

Hymen  smiled  at  the  master  and  mistress,  as  Peter 
and  Eustace  stood  before  them,  asking  grave  ques 
tions  as  to  the  strange  habits  of  Nature. 

To  them  appeared  Melindy,  embarrassed. 

"  Miss  Carrie,  honey,"  she  said,  "  axin'  yo'  pah- 
don,  Miss  Carrie !  —  I  done  fergot  teh  tell  you  dat, 
when  I  was  down-town  teh  see  Miss  Euph'seen,  teh- 
day,  I  done  invited  Miss  Euph'seen  teh  come  hyah 
teh-night.  I  done  said, '  Teh  be  sho',  Miss  Carrie  an' 
Marse  George  an'  Miss  Nat'lie  wishes  you  teh  come ! ' 
I  done  took  a  liberty ;  'scuse  me,  please'm,  Miss  Car 
rie.  Miss  Euph'seen  ain't  been  spry  lately.  She's 
sort-er  solemncholy,  Miss  Carrie,  honey.  You  does 
want  Miss  Euph'seen, —  doesn'  you?  —  lak  I  done 
said  you  did?  You  better  speak  up  quick,  ef  you 
doan'  want  her,  Miss  Carrie.  'Cause  hyah's  Miss 
Euph'seen  comin'  up  de  path  wif  Aunt  Clem,  now ! " 

As  they  hastened  forward  to  greet  the  unexpected 
guest,  Miss  Carrie  asked  Melindy  sotto  voce, — 
thinking  of  Mr.  Mandeville's  presence, —  "  Did  you 
tell  Miss  Euphrosyne  who  were  to  be  here  ?  " 

"Yas'm.  I  did  'm.  She  said  she's  sho'  come  ef 
li'l  Hecuby  was  a  comin'.  She  sho'ly  do  want  teh 
see  ma  li'l  'Cuby." 


246  Melindy 

"Really!  —  A  good  fairy  leads  this  child, 
George ! "  „ 

As  Miss  Euphrosyne  Myrtilla  Du  Fossat  came 
through  the  gateway,  the  moon,  or  some  other  of  the 
gods  of  the  evening,  played  a  strange  trick  of  joy. 
Perhaps  they  wished  to  reward  the  old  scholar  who 
had  been  the  devotee  of  classic  myths  throughout  his 
life.  At  least,  it  is  certain  that  Mr.  Mandeville  stood 
still  in  the  pathway,  entranced.  It  is  certain  that 
where  other,  younger,  brighter  eyes  saw  only  a  faded, 
crotchety,  angular  old  lady,  his  tired  old  eyes  beheld 
the  handsome  girl  whose  memory  had  dominated  his 
life. 

"Myrtilla! "he  called. 

With  her  usual  directness,  Miss  Euphrosyne  went 
straight  to  him,  her  hands  extended.  "  Ebers,"  said 
she,  "  I  have  come  here  to  see  yew, —  you  and  the 
child." 

"  You  have  forgiven  ?  " —  oblivious  of  Miss  Carrie 
and  Marse  George,  who  stood  aloof. 

"Forgiven  you!  Ah!  You  are  to  forgive  me, 
Ebers.  I've  grown  old  in  a  week  and  learned  this 
wisdom :  There  are  only  two  things  on  this  earth,  my 
friend,  worth  having  in  your  heart  when  you  are  old. 
Love  and  charity  of  judgment!  I  have  rather 
scorned  you,  always,  Mandeville,"  said  the  downright 
old  lady,  "  but  you  deserve  and  have  them  both,  both 
love  and  tolerance.  Forgive  a  poor  old  woman  who 
has  been  denied  the  one  because  she  denied  herself  the 
other!" 


IThe  Garden  of  the  Gods  247 

She  held  out  her  two  hands  to  Mr.  Mandeville,  who 
raised  them  to  his  trembling  lips. 

A  shout  went  up  from  the  children.  The  late- 
blooming  flowers  were  opening. 

Hosts  and  guests,  little  and  big,  white  and  black, 
crowded  around  the  cacti.  The  negroes  sat  on  the 
grass  in  a  ring,  encircling  the  garden  chairs  of  the 
others.  Edwin  Hadley  Osborne  La  Rouche,  moved 
by  a  sudden  impulse  of  anger,  went  up  to  Jake  who 
sat  next  to  Melindy  and  whispered  threateningly, 
"  Move  on,  boy.  You's  sittin'  by  ma  gal !  Move 
on,  I  tell  you ! "  and  forced  his  way  between  them. 

"You's  a  wicked,  onmannerly  boy,  Edwin,"  said 
Melindy.  "  Pore  Jakey  warn't  doin'  no  mo'  hahm 
dan  a  deaf  an'  dumb  parrot  wif  his  mouf  tied  up  an* 
his  claws  cut.  Less  dan  dat,  'cause  Jakey  ain't  even 
wishin9  no  hahm  an'  dat-ar  Polly-parrot  ob  mine," 
she  laughed,  "  suttinly  would  be  ciissin*  in  his 
sperrit." 

"  Da's  a'right,  Melindy ;  but  I  ain't  a-gwine-a  allow 
no  boy  teh  set  down  side  ob  you  while  I'se  hyah. 
Not  ef  he  wants  teh  keep  on  livin',"  and  Edwin  glared 
at  the  inoffensive  Jakey.  "  I  got  teh  look  out  fo* 
you,  Melindy,  honey,"  pursued  the  Boy  from  Back  o' 
Town,  "  'cause  you  is  gwine-a  be  ma  gal  when  you 
grows  up ;  isn'  you  ?  " 

Melindy  dimpled,  but  disdained  reply. 

"  What  is  you  gwine-a  be  when  you  grows  up,  Me 
lindy, —  besides  bein'  ma  gal  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Be?     Why,  jess  Melindy,  ob  course.     Does  you 


248  Melindy 

'spec'  Fse  gwine-a  turn  inteh  a  ten-thousan'-dollar 
beauty  or  a  hummin'  bird  ?  Go  'long,  boy !  " 

"  You  is  a  beauty  now,  an'  a  hummin'  bird  too. 
But  I  means  what  is  you  gwine-a  do  when  you  grows 
up?" 

"  Hmm !  I  ain't  a-plannin'  f  o'  next  summer  bef  o' 
dis  summer  done  got  hyah.  You  suttinly  is  look- 
aheadish,  boy!  I'll  bet  right  now  you  doesn'  know 
what  you'se  gwine  teh  do  teh-morrow, — 'ceptin'  dat 
you's  pretty  shore  not  teh  do  nothin'  tall,  you  lazy 
boy!" 

Melindy's  sweet  smile  took  the  sting  out  of  her 
words. 

"  I  means,  what  does  you  hope  you'll  do  ?  "  Edwin 
persisted.  "  Does  you  want-a  be  a  teacher  or  a 
what?  " 

"  I'se  gwine-a  stay  wif  ma  Missy  Euly,  till  I  dies, 
an'  look  out  fo'  her,  ob  co'se.  What  ails  you,  boy?  " 

"  Is  you  gwine-a  be  jess  a  house-servant  all  de  time? 
What  fo'  you  studies  so  good  an'  hahd,  den?  " 

"  So's  I  kin  be  smaht  an'  he'p  Miss  Euly  better. 
Learnin'  doan'  hurt  nobody  but  dem  dat  ain't  got 
none." 

"  Well,  some  frien's  ob  mine  was  sayin'  dat  you  is 
so  smaht,  yo'  Sis  ought  teh  train  you  fo'  somefin'  mo' 
richer  an'  nicer, —  higher  up  things." 

"  Huh !  Marse  George  says  nothin'  cayn't  be  no 
higher  up  dan  de  way  you  does  it.  An'  I  knows  dat 
nothin'  cayn't  be  no  nicer  dan  how  much  you  laks  an' 


The  Garden  of  the  Gods     249 

in  joys  teh  do  it.  But,  den,  some  folks  would  make 
faces  eatin'  sugar." 

"  Dasso,  Melindy.  But,  den,  yo'  fambly  is  bet- 
ter'n  some  white  famblies  — " 

"  Better'n  some?  Dey's  de  bestes'  ob  all,  you 
Edwin." 

"  Maybe  so.  Maybe  dey  is.  Anyway,  ma  Ma 
says  dey  condescends  teh  treat  people  like  folks. 
But,  Melindy,  dese-ar  frien's  of  mine  says  dar's  mo' 
money  an'  mo'  fun  — " 

"  Oh !  I  didn'  understood  you,  Edwin.  You  an' 
yo'  smaht  show-offish  frien's!  You's  talkin'  'bout 
gwme-a  Git,  not  gwme-a  Be.  Look  out  you  doan' 
be  banana  peelin's  an'  git  slipped  up  on.  Dat's  what 
Sis  Suky  says."  And  Melindy  turned  haughtily 
from  him  to  watch  the  opening  flowers. 

"  You  sassy  gal !     I  sho'ly  likes  you !  " 

66  Does  you,  Edwin  ? "  twinkling  with  dimples, 
"  Everybody  lubs  Melindy.  Da's  why  I  lubs  teh 
serve  ma  white  folks,  'cause  dey  lubs  me  an'  I  lubs 
dem  an'  us  all  lubs  togedder.  Look  at  dem  chulluns 
smilin'  ober  hyah!  De  minute  anythin'  happens  teh 
dem  chilluns,  good  or  bad,  one  of  'em  calls  right  out, 
6  Whar's  Melindy?'  Da's  how-come  I  knows  whar 
ma  place  is, —  right  hyah  whar  dey  kin  fin'  me." 

"  Well,  /'se  alluz  glad  teh  fin?  you,  all  right.  Will 
you  be  ma  gal,  Melindy,  ef  I  tries  teh  be  good  too,  lak 
you  is  ?  " 

"  Is  I  so  good,  Edwin  ?     Won't  you  please  tell  dat 


250  Melindy 

teh  Sis  Suky?  You  try  bein'  good  first,  Edwin,  an' 
den  come  'round  an'  ax  me.  Reckon  we'll  be  growed 
up  jess  about  de  time  you  succeed,"  smiling,  not  dis 
pleased. 

"  I  jess  will,  Melindy.  I'se  sho'  gwine-a  try. 
You'll  marry  me  yit,  gal.  But  it  do  seem  teh  me  you 
knows  a  heap  teh  be  jess  a  servant,"  flatteringly. 

"  Does  I,  Edwin?  "  tossing  her  head  proudly.  "  Is 
I  so  smaht?  Well,  all  I  wants  teh  do  is  teh  be  sweet 
an'  pleasant  an'  help  teh  make  folks  happy." 

The  light  voice  rose  on  that  sentence  and  it  reached 
Miss  Carrie's  ears. 

A  sudden  illumination  came  to  her  heart.  She 
looked  away  from  the  gloriously  opening  blossoms 
and  upon  the  gloriously  opening  happiness  of  the 
many  hearts  about  her.  To  her  awakened  vision, 
Melindy  took  her  place,  chief  that  night  of  the  gods 
of  the  garden.  Little  brown  Melindy,  whose  love 
had  brought  all  the  joy ! 

To  be  sweet  and  pleasant  and  to  help  to  make  folks 
happy ! 

What  more,  indeed,  can  any  of  us  do? 


THE    END 


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